


Homosexual Supporting Cast

by Josweetz7



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closeted Character, F/M, Haruhi fujioka - Freeform, Hikaru Hitachiin - Freeform, Honey-Senpai - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mitskune Haninozuka, Multi, Mutual Pining, One of the authors info dumps about rock music a bunch and it's really cute, Polyamory, Renge Houshakuji - Freeform, Slow Burn, Takashi Morinozuka - Freeform, Twins, Unhealthy Relationships, kaoru hitachiin - Freeform, kyoya ootori - Freeform, long chapters, tamaki suoh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 77,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josweetz7/pseuds/Josweetz7
Summary: My friend Ollie and I have a cast of characters for an original, separate story. One day, we were watching Ouran and started talking about what it would be like if our characters were in those roles and those situations.This is the result of those discussions and the writings that spawned from them.Its a similar plot, but due to the personalities and histories of our characters, it's an entirely new story. However, I guarantee that if you liked Ouran, you'll like this too.The canon characters - Who replaced them in this AU:Haruhi Fujioka - Alvin BlakeleyTamaki Suoh - Zacharie FuetezKyoya Ootori - Pierre ThanatosHikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin - Lincoln and Cedric Al-AhdalMitskune Haninozuka - Orion ThanatosTakashi Morinozuka - Ares OaklandRenge Houshakuji - Percy Thanatos
Kudos: 1





	1. Starting Today, You are a Host! (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> As a disclaimer, I'm adapting this from an rp with a friend of mine. Our writing styles are subtly different, and we'd started this just for fun, so apologies if I miss any mistakes or if some things don't make perfect sense. I'm trying to catch all the typoes (and plot holes) as I copy, paste, organize, and revise. If you see a typo, please point it out so I can hop back in and fix it! We have written... far more than I realized we had, so I'll be a little swamped with edits for a bit. Anyway, thank you and enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Most chapters are based off of episodes from the source material. This one is based off of episode 1, Starting Today, you are a Host!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I'm adapting this from an rp with a friend of mine. Our writing styles are subtly different, and we'd started this just for fun, so apologies if I miss any mistakes or if some things don't make perfect sense. I'm trying to catch all the typoes (and plot holes) as I copy, paste, organize, and revise. If you see a typo, please point it out so I can hop back in and fix it! We have written... far more than I realized we had, so I'll be a little swamped with edits for a bit. Anyway, thank you and enjoy!

At a school as affluent and eccentric as Ouran Academy, you get used to seeing some pretty strange shit happening on campus grounds. After a while, you learn to just accept that things won’t always make sense and you have to just go with the flow if you want to survive. For this reason, when two brown boys came marching down the hallway, dragging a writhing figure with a sack over their (his, judging by the uniform alone) head, nobody questioned it. The individual wasn’t making a lot of noise, so one of the men must have gagged him while the other sacked him like urgent groceries in the middle of a pandemic, and now, they were hauling him upstairs to Music Room Number Three. _Host business,_ everyone thought. _Nothing to see here,_ they decided.

You can get away with anything if you’re rich enough or handsome enough.

The double doors slammed closed behind the trio, keeping any unwanted listeners out during this brief private club meeting. They drop their prize on his knees in the middle of the room and then remove the bag. For a Japanese school, it was interesting that he, the foreign exchange student, was the only one in the room who appeared even remotely Asian. He was gagged, so instead of speaking, he just glared around the room in confusion. Normally he’d be all for two attractive young men abducting him, but he didn’t know what was going on, and honestly had just been ready to go home and hide out in his room with his dating sims.

Zacharie had not been expecting their guest, and he was sitting on the back of one of the sofas, feet resting on the cushions below him, when he arrived.

"...who’s this...?” He asked his underlings, green eyes flicking downwards.

One of the twins - slightly taller and rounder - rested a hand on top of their captive’s violet bowlcut, “Alvin Blakeley... I thought you wanted him...?”

"Well, Pierre told us to bring him in, so we assumed that you knew,” the other clarifies, crouching at Alvin’s side.

Zacharie’s expression was blank.

"No, I... he didn’t say anything,” Zacharie shakes his head, hopping off the sofa and brushing off his blazer, “Alvin... honor student? Everyone’s been talking about you.”

Alvin stared up at Zacharie with all the contempt of a ghost who had just been asked to subscribe to a YouTube channel, like, _yo, I’m... I’m dead.’_

Ž realized what the problem was and removed the gag.

"Why the fuck am I here?” Their victim sniped, immediately, in an entirely deadpan voice.

"That's quite a naughty word to let slip. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

A voice tinged with the mildest amusement comments from... nowhere. Wait, where did that come from?

Alvin would not have to wonder for long. From the shadows, (How does that even work? This room is well-lit... maybe that corner is just really easy to overlook...) a tall, seemingly perfect man appears. Pierre Thanatos.

In a school filled with the affluent and apathetic, Pierre Thanatos appears to be on another level. He’s rich beyond belief, beyond question... his mother is the CEO of an incredibly successful tech company. It’s rumored that his father was some sort of angel, but no one’s sure. He and his twin sister, Percy, are almost legend to the other students at this point. Getting into Ouran Academy is an incredible feat that anyone with any sense would die to accomplish. Ouran, and its extracurriculars, are most of what many of its inhabits think about. And yet, it seems that the Thanatos twins barely pay any of that any mind. They have better things to be doing, but are here now because of the points it earns.

Pierre, though seventeen, has published a book and, according to rumor, takes college courses at night. With essentially running the Host Club, (as we all know Tamaki was always only the face, not the brain) it's impossible to decipher where he gets all of this time. Meanwhile, Percy competes nationally in ice skating, and was even nominated in the Grand Prix Final.

They're perfect. Just.. Perfect. A yin and a yang - two stunning twins, one with curly white hair, and one with poker-straight black. Aside from that, their features are nearly identical. Even their evident lack of feeling is shared. The most notable feature they both own, however, are their eyes. Blue is a common enough color, but theirs seems almost otherworldly. Perhaps that's where the angel theory comes into play.

Their eyes are glaciers, frozen to the core. They bore straight into you.

In this moment, that phrase is literal- Pierre is crossing the room, right up to Alvin. Sweeping him up and down with those icy eyes of his, a brow quirks to show something akin to appreciation.

"Yes."

A perfectly manicured hand sweeps out, delicately taking the tip of Alvin's chin between its thumb and forefinger to tilt it up to present a better view.

Pierre clicks his tongue, "Yes. He'll do nicely as a pet, Zacharie wouldn't you agree?"

Though this statement addresses the host club's king, he does not face him. He doesn't need to.

"I like your hair. Purple is a fine color- it represents nobility, extravagance, and luxury. I always thought it should be the color of our uniform, actually, I simply detest blue... It will fit perfectly into our club."

He straightens, letting go of Alvin's chin, and flexes his lips. (Not a smile. Never a smile.) It's the sort of thing you'd hate to see from a chess opponent- that little purse, conveying appreciation for how the game has been wrapped neatly around their little finger. ...that raises the question, in fact: what game, exactly, is Pierre Thanatos playing?

The twins that had abducted him - for reasons they actually still were unaware of - seemed just as taken aback as Alvin himself by this show of authority, and at the word “pet,” the heavier boy grew alarmed and his slimmer brother appeared intrigued.

Those two had very different reputations. For most of their grade school careers, they’d been one singular, unbreakable unit. They kept to themselves and generally stayed out of trouble. All anyone really knew about them was that their family was old money... rumors that they had roots in Syrian royalty. But ever since they’d been recruited into this elite club, they’d come out of their shell. They’d learned that the heavier one, Lincoln, was a bit of a flirt - which played well in this room - and the other was unpredictable. Both of these traits, combined with the exotic nature of their family's origins and the fact that both of them already sported facial hair made them desirable to many of the girls in their grade. Middle Eastern genes, fuzzy young men. And there was something so approachable about the both of them. Just like every other boy in the club’s ranks, they were widely popular.

Alvin didn’t fit that m/o.

Most people saw him as the weird art kid, who made it in to this academy practically on a lottery ticket, most of his scores scraping only the bare minimum required to transfer in and his high marks in math operating as his only saving grace. If he wasn't furiously studying to keep up with his classes, he was sketching with his headphones on. He had yet to make any friends, and was in fact known for having a bit of a bite to him if you were to interrupt his work or his music.

He didn’t mind that so much. Standing out and being loved was always his sister’s thing, anyway.

“A pet?” Zacharie asked, stepping curiously up towards Pierre’s side and flicking his gaze between his right-hand man and their little trophy, “I didn’t know you were in the market, you could have always just asked _me_ , you know.”

Zacharie made jokes like this a lot. Or at least, most people _thought_ they were jokes. However, Alvin had never met this man, and yet, he already knew that that hadn’t been a joke at all.

Alvin wasn’t bound anywhere else, so the moment Pierre released his chin, he pulled away from his hand and staggered to his feet, tugging at his blazer and patting around, feeling for the strap of his-

“-looking for this?” The twin still crouched beside Vin said, holding up a green canvas backpack covered in colorful patches and pins. Before Alvin could take it back, he launched it around Alvin's back to his sibling, who caught it and flipped it open to peek inside it, lifting out a sketchbook and leafing through a few pages.

“You’re not bad, you should draw us sometime,” he said, peeking at a gesture sketch Alvin had done of his Japanese instructor, “We’d pay you, of course.”

Alvin grabbed the bag and yanked it away from him, “God, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to mess with things that don’t belong to you?”

He shoves the sketchbook back in the bag and slings it over his shoulder, facing Pierre again and straightening his back to size him up. Alvin wasn’t quite as tall as Pierre, but now that he’d found his footing, his aura might as well have been. He was no longer afraid of these men.

“You gonna tell me why I’m here? Is this some freaky rich-asshole school welcome hazing thing? Cause I don’t wanna join your frat or your boy band or whatever the fuck this is,” he states, scowling.

“Boy band,” the crouched twin laughs, standing up and going to lean on his brother’s shoulder, “I wish. You do _not_ want to hear _this_ one sing.”

Blushing, Lincoln sighed, resignedly, “It’s true, it’s... not good. I’m a talker, not a singer...”

Pierre isn't really in the market for a pet. He's far too busy for anything like that. No. Instead, he believes the pet is in the market for him. Even if he doesn't quite know it yet.

He doesn't speak for the time being, allowing the twins to take over in interacting with Alvin as he searches for a way to convince him - or mandate him - to stay.

He's an impartial-looking but dangerous party, with his lanky form deadly still as he takes in the backpack and sketchbook. When Lincoln starts flipping through it, he tilts his head just so to be able to catch a glimpse inside. A talented artist. He'd thought so. Zacharie might feel threatened... That would be _fantastic_ for their guests. Perhaps he could even convince him to sketch a few of the ladies.

Suddenly, observing Alvin's touchiness about returning it to his person, a plan falls to place in his mind. Would it work? Probably. He might have to arrange some things, and learn more about this artist's character, but it isn't certainly doomed to fail...

Pierre is yanked out of his scheming by Alvin addressing him directly - and loudly. Oh. Look at that. He's trying to intimidate him... How cute. Pierre doesn't even look down- just peers at the other boy over his glasses.

"We're far more elegant than a boy band, Mr. Blakeley," he muses, "and calling us a frat is just downright insulting. I told you earlier, and it is imperative you do not make me repeat myself again: _Watch. Your tongue."_

He takes a step back so that he can circle around Alvin, deftly crisscrossing his feet so that he can swiftly trap him in his almost shark-like movements. In order to keep facing him, Vin would have to turn around, and around, and around. It's unfair.

"I truly believe you would make a good fit here in the host club, despite your past aggressions and solitude. Perhaps all you need to... _open up..._ is a little servitude. Tell me, Alvin... are you good with the ladies?"

And there it is. Vinnie wouldn't know, but this little exchange would make things apparent to the other boys. Aggressions...? Solitude...? Art... Purple hair.

_Perhaps all you need to open up..._

The Ouran High School Host Club is a place to pamper the feminine students of the academy, sure, but it is also a front. A place for queer and closeted boys to locate each other and feel safe from the judgement of the outside world. Pierre doesn’t care about Alvin’s prowess, or lack of, with flirting. He’s picked up that he’s not straight, and therefore he wants him around. This becomes even more apparent to Lincoln, Cedric, and Zacharie when he does not even give Alvin a chance to tell him, and moves on entirely in that drawling voice of his.

“You’re from Thailand, correct? Your Japanese is lovely. It’s accented, sure, but that’s not a problem... Let me be the first to tell you that women love foreigners. Different tones add a mysterious air, and mysteries are quite easy to lose oneself in...”

Alvin was a brat. It was going to take a little more than a deep voice and a sharp gaze to put him in his place. He didn’t bother turning with Pierre, simply crossing his arms over his chest in a stubborn, unyielding sort of way and following his adversary with his gaze and subtle angling of his head, listening to him talk with a scowl set on his face. If Pierre had given him any time at all to respond when queried about his skill with women, Vin would have said no. Just “no.” No disdain or anguish in his voice about it, no backstory or clarification, just “no.” No, he was not good with women. And that was fine by him.

"I’m from America,” he corrects Pierre, flatly, “I’m only half-Thai. I go there every year, but I wasn’t born there.”

Bold. Normally he let people go on assuming his birthplace, but this time, Alvin wanted to hurl a dart in Pierre’s balloon of information. Pierre wanted to appear as if he knew all about Vin, and sure, the man clocked Alvin as gay, but that was nothing. At least, Alvin thought that was nothing. Vin had always found it extremely easy to guess a person’s sexual orientation, and was under the impression that other people were good at it, too. He believed everyone knew he was gay, but as an unspoken rule, they didn’t attack him for it unless he acknowledged it or gave into it. Obviously, that’s not actually true. But Alvin had never been inside anyone else’s head. How was he to know that his talent was unusual?

America... well _that's_ interesting. Pierre had learned that Alvin wasn't at his home in Thailand as often as he could be, and he knew he had a white father, but he had been too rushed in his research to learn he was actually born and raised in America.

"America is still foreign here,” Zacharie notes, catching onto Pierre’s aim, “I’m pretty sure all of us are immigrants. I’m from a small island near Central America, and Cedric and Lincoln were both born in London.”

"Yes, both of us, born in London, such a coincidence,” Cedric jokes, smirking, “Almost like we came from the same mother.”

"At the same time,” Lincoln and Cedric starting trading lines.

"On the same day.”

"Almost like twins.”

"Now that I think about it, we do kind of look like one another, don’t we?”

"I can’t believe we _met_ here, crazy kismet.”

"Super freaky kismet.”

Alvin decided he liked those two. At the very least, they knew how to have a little fun.

Zacharie finished what he was saying, “And Pierre is from France.”

Is he though...?

Yes, yes he is.

All the trouble Pierre had gone to create documents and a backstory would be wasted if these boys didn't believe him.

"That explains why you have no manners... America..." Pierre pauses in his step a moment, icy eyes caught dead on Vin's face. He's analyzing his accent, and the smidgen of knowledge he's gathered about his father.

"Somewhere in Missouri, yes? Or Iowa? Perhaps even Illinois, but I doubt it... I've traveled to Chicago, the flatness in your vowels doesn't quite match..."

Alvin tried to ignore the discomfort settling in his gut over Pierre’s approximation of his hometown. He doesn’t confirm or deny the man’s accuracy, although he internally and begrudgingly had to admit that he was impressed and a little uneasy about it.

"...so... you guys want my foreign, American ass to help you romance innocent women out of their rich-bitch allowances, but instead of, I don’t know, talking to me at lunch, you... kidnap me? Am I getting this right...?” Alvin says, bitterly, still disregarding Pierre’s orders to watch what he says.

Zacharie didn’t have an answer for this. He stared at Pierre, “Yes, that _is_ a little drastic. Don’t you think the gag _and_ the sack was a bit much...?”

Alvin's reply catches Pierre by surprise. He almost, just almost smiles, but maybe that was just an dastardly twitch.

"My my, you're almost entirely ignorant, aren't you? Either you're grasping at straws as to what we do here, or you have no idea as to how a business works... We don't con innocent women out of their money. They pay a small fee to come here, yes, but it is next to nothing compared to the costs of expensive food, furniture, tea, events, and entertainment. If we were relying only on their money, we would be more than bankrupt, mon doux. Besides, the idea that these ladies are innocent is laughable... They hardly know the meaning of innocence, and that is what makes this so much fun."

He hums gently, his eyes flicking to Alvin's hair once again.

"You weren't aware of that, however, so I'll allow it to be swept under the rug."

Alvin isn't satisfied with Pierre’s description of the services the club provided, quipping, bitterly, “You play with people’s emotions for money. Sorry, not interested.”

Of course, he knew these boys weren’t criminal masterminds. They weren’t villains seeking to prey on the vulnerabilities of a young woman’s heart for their own financial gain. But Alvin refused to take part. Not just in their club, but in everything. He did not want to be involved with people. He didn’t want to get too close. Not to mention, his family had warned him to play his sexuality close to the chest while they were here. They wanted him to be safe. He wasn’t very strong, he couldn’t defend himself. Spending every day after school surrounded by men that Alvin would gladly allow to step on him didn’t seem like the smartest way to protect his closeted status.

Pierre decides not to dignify that comment with a response. He had already explained that they weren't in this for the money - that they were spending far more than they were earning, anyway. Maybe they did play with the girls' emotions a bit, but it was to be expected - all customers were aware that none of them had ever started actually dating one of them... that this was purely a business transaction. If their feelings were hurt from growing attached, it would be their own fault for allowing themselves to.

So, he ignores that and addresses the thing he cares about least - the criticisms to his method in bringing the boy here. He orchestrated that entirely. Kidnapping paints himself as a less than amiable figure, despite his charm. This will put a distance between himself and Alvin, even if what he truly cares for here is his safety and happiness. Alvin won't think that's his aim... How could he?

Pierre appears to be using him as a pawn, already four steps ahead in earning what he wants. He appears to be a self-centered, pompous twat focused on ways to better his and his group's standing. That makes it harder to discern the truth: that he cares; that he has feelings. It's probable that, in this group, the twins are almost completely blind to that fact. Ares, Ž, and Orion have a closer look, but only slightly.

He is a machine. He works, but with no seen fuel. He must care, but evidence of that is nigh impossible to percept. He's good at it, without bucketloads of trauma weighing down his response time and fogging up his mind. Therefore, he only responds, as to keep up this effect, as well as mystery (Pierre adores mysteries), "Well, it's foolish to use only one. Without a gag, there is a possibility for screaming under the sack, and seeing someone who is only gagged but not covered effectively is lazy. It speaks to their failure in theatrics, and that just won't do."

He looks to Alvin once again.

"It is my strong belief that our group requires a bad boy. There are far too many soft boys in are group, and though Zacharie tries, he does not fill those shoes. You, however, would. Join us?" Shifting his weight to one foot and settling a hand on his hip, he adds, "It is a foolish idea to decline."

“I don’t want to be your _pet,_ or your _bad boy,_ or whatever. I just want to be left alone,” he asserted, firmly.

Zacharie was, as usual, disconnected from reality at this moment in time, and he was asking aloud, to himself, in Spanish, “...do I try to be a bad boy? I don’t... think that I do, if I’m doing that, it’s subconscious...”

Pierre does think Zacharie tries to be a bad boy, to an extent. His flirting style is smooth, but unmistakably dominant and almost a little dangerous. From what he's witnessed, he will go to ridiculous levels in order to remain in control. Those are good qualities for a bad boy. The only problem is...

Well. Zacharie is much too stupid. Much too kind. Not that that's a bad thing - secretly, Pierre loves that about him. It only means he's incompatible for the role.

Speaking of stupid - Zacharie is still lost in his own empty head. He shakes it off and grounds himself again, saying, “Look, amigo -“ the appearance of a Spanish word in a Japanese sentence was jarring, and it threw all of the structure and grammar off balance, but somehow, this seemed intentional, like despite his air-headedness, Zacharie had a talent for keeping people on their toes, “Usually I’m the one in charge of recruitment. Pierre is a very busy man, if he went out of his way to bring you here, he must believe, whole-heartedly, that you belong.”

Pierre is grateful for his support in this. He's glad he's learned he knows what's best. ...He's glad he has his back.

Even if Alvin refuses the both of them...

“He’s wrong,” Alvin says, instantly and coldly.

Lincoln and Cedric exchanged an anxious glance. It took guts to call a man like Pierre Thanatos “wrong.” They didn’t want to be around for the fall-out, so they both crept away towards the other side of the room under the guise of setting tables to prepare for business hours. Alvin wasn’t backing down. He stared Pierre directly in the eye, waiting for a response.

At those words, Pierre's demeanor changes. Eyebrows raising in disbelief, he squints at the boy in front of him - as if intrigued by what a particularly petulant specimen he is.

A sound of elegant amusement takes place behind his closed mouth. He leans forward.

_"Am I, now?"_

He purses his lips, tilts his head, and makes a dour determination.

"I suppose I must be, if you think so..."

Straightening, he offers Alvin a derisive, dismissive wave of his hand, "Alright then. If you're sure, Mr. Blakeley, you're free to go."

Somehow, this feels even more perilous than the kidnapping. The wording of this invitation was friendly, but the tone behind it is laced with lethal poison. He keeps those frigid irises trained a moment, then turns and begins to walk to the other side of the room to busy himself with other matters.

"Come again sometime, hm?"

It... feels that this isn't a choice, even though it's being said that way.

Alvin clenched his fists where they were tightened under his arms. He wasn’t a fan of Pierre’s tone.

He tried to stay quiet, he really did. Normally that was easy for him, but in the middle of a confrontation, well... Alvin just had to have the last word, especially when his opponent was this uncomfortably and frustratingly calm. Vin had to get under his skin. He couldn’t resist.

When Pierre’s back was turned, it slipped out.

 _"C*nt,”_ he muttered.

How infantile.

Pierre raises his brows, but doesn't face Alvin again. He doesn't need to.

Zacharie paused, staring at Alvin as if he had just insisted that Australia was just a rumor.

No one insulted Pierre like _that_ and got away with it. Pierre would get his way. Zacharie would be sure of that.

"I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” Ž murmured, quietly, dangerously.

Something like pride blossoms in Pierre's chest when Zacharie defends him. Oh, Zacharie... Sweet, stupid Zacharie.

How fond he is of him.

 _"What_ welcome?” Alvin clapped back, “I was _dragged_ here!”

He didn’t say goodbye, he just spun on his heel and strode out of the room. He had an impressive helping of confidence for a guy who’d just been kidnapped, pestered, outed as gay, and chastised. Ž watched him leave. Pierre still doesn't turn as Alvin exits, remaining stationary as he thinks about what just transpired. He's not exactly sure how he'll do it yet, but he will convince him to stay, and he will make him regret being so damned rude. After the door slammed shut again, Zacharie wandered over to Pierre’s side and then produced, from seemingly nowhere at all, the sticker-covered sketchbook of Alvin Blakeley.

Movement near him catches Pierre’s peripherals, and he is torn out of thought as he looks at Zacharie. Expecting him to question him, he prepares a well-crafted excuse, and -

Oh.

The sketchbook.

_Fantastic._

My god, does that make things easier...

Zacharie is awarded a look of shrewd praise as he reaches up to take their bounty, almost tenderly, saying, "Good man."

And yet, Zacharie doesn’t let go of the sketchbook just because Pierre lays his hand on it. He meets Pierre’s gaze. Being out of the loop on this doesn’t mean he’s suddenly not in charge here.

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” he says, calmly, “Or why you have your sights set on him, but I am choosing to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

His voice drops ever lower.

“I know you don’t want them to think you care, but if you push this too far, they’re going to find out. Reaching out to a lonely, embittered young man, trying to bring him into our little family...?” he says, “Careful, Pierre. Your _human_ is showing.”

He finally lets go of the book and straightens, flicking a dark brown curl out of his face, “I don’t know what’s in that sketchbook. He was very protective of it. ...I don’t think we should dig through it. Bad enough we’re using it as leverage... but do what you think is best. I’m going to go set up for our guests.”

Taking the sketchbook impassively, he comments, "You have no idea what I'm up to, hm? Embittered and lonely? Maybe. That's not why he appeals to me, Zacharie."

Zacharie stares at Pierre a second longer, before turning to make his exit.

Pierre watches Zacharie for some time. Being predictable is the last thing on his agenda. It's the last thing he wants. But Zacharie has caught on.

Oh, dear... He'll have to try a little harder, now won't he?

He watches him go, ignoring the twisting in his heartstrings.

Feelings... they're such a hindrance. He despises thinking that Ž got into his head with that comment about the sketchbook, but he did. He debated flipping through it, for a moment. And he did take a peek within. But he only looked at about five pages before setting it away.

But fuck, he's curious. He's so, so curious.

The five pages he saw were all filled with gesture drawings and sketches on top of other drawings and sketches. Alvin's style was incredibly impressionistic. None of them really appeared to have faces. The figures were composed of swirling lines filling up shapes that approximated the human form. There was something... active about it. Like the art was moving. Breathing, almost. It had a personality. It was unsettling, and yet it drew you in.

For a man like Pierre, it was infuriating, considering he couldn’t dive in as deep as he wished.

It was good that he stopped when he did, however. The further in you explored, the more erotic Alvin’s art became, but that wasn’t quite what he’d been trying to hide.

It was the darker stuff. The metaphorical ones.

A few of those pages were even stained with his blood, although that had always been an accident. He wasn’t a creep intentionally writing or drawing with his bodily fluids. But sometimes... his hand slipped.

Anyway.

Everything wound down enough for them to open for business, and the day’s activities were in full swing by the time Alvin returned to Music Room number three.

He’d started walking home before getting a sick, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, and he checked his bag.

He’d forgotten to buckle it closed after wrestling it away from the twins... the book must have fallen out at some point. All he had to do was retrace his steps, and... god, he’d known from the very beginning that he’d have to go all the back to that hellhole. He didn’t want to believe it, but that was just his luck. And it turns out that his luck was even worse than he thought.

He was hovering outside the door, practically vibrating with fury.

_They took it._

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to go back in, he didn’t want to deal with... _that._

But he needed his sketchbook back.

So he just stood by the doors, fuming.

Just beyond them, the Ouran High School Host Club was thriving.

Due to their extended time with one another and the ladies who frequent the music room, all of the boys have grown comfortable in the roles each of them play. This makes the inside of the room whilst it's, as previously stated, in full swing, it's own ecosystem. An entire environment where all of the hosts and customers exist and mingle harmoniously. It's good.

In a corner of the room opposite the double doors, Pierre is nestled at a table with a few ladies. He's reading some sort of Romantic Era poetry quietly while the two nearest to him rest on his side and all find themselves lulled into relaxation by the sound of his voice. Nearer to the front of the room are two boys that Alvin is more unfamiliar with. They're grouped together, with a fairly sized amount of guests around them, and -

Oh. One of them is sitting on the other's lap.

The larger one, who's playing chair, is a pale, freckled white boy. That's weird, for Japan... how are there two freckled white boys in one Japanese host club? He's heavier, enough to look like he gives excellently soft hugs, and he has striking natural red hair. The one on his lap is tiny, probably only five foot tall, and is the picture of the _soft boy_ Pierre had mentioned earlier. He's discarded his uniform entirely, instead wearing a baby blue sweater over a white collared shirt, and... a pink ruffled skirt. The pink doesn't stop there. He was also sporting knee high socks and a huge bunny in his arms to match. He's not wearing any shoes.

I could stop and say that this boy is a cutie, and nothing else.

But there's something else to note.

He's mixed race, with abnormal periwinkle eyes that don't have an ounce of the frigidness in them that Pierre's have, despite the fact that this boy is Orion Thanatos, Percy and Pierre's younger brother and, well, something of a scandal. Rumor has it that the _twins'_ father was an angel. But no one held that belief about Orion, who was only half-related to the twins.

He's different. He isn't accomplished like his siblings, he looks nothing like them, and he's extremely feminine.

He's so, so feminine, more so even than his older sister, and compared to Pierre, he is also quite... childish.

The other students aren't quite sure what to make of him. Some people judge him. Others prefer him to the coldness of the twins. He's happily popular enough in the host club, with ladies adoring of his softer charms.

It's fascinating.

Zacharie occupied the middle of the room. He always did. Pierre drew a different crowd every day, but he wasn’t compassionate enough to attract a consistent group of fans. Sometimes, all you want is to be told you’re pretty and loved, over and over again, by a boy with dark hair and shimmering green eyes. This meant that Zacharie amassed the largest group of regulars. He could always be counted on to deliver a cozy, safe, affirmative space, and considering he was one of the few members of the club with any attraction to women at all, his flirting was entirely natural. There was nothing trained or masked about it. So his area took up the most space. 

But back by the windows, there was a sizable crowd of onlookers gazing adoringly at a table occupied by our Middle-Eastern twins. Lincoln’s hands were bigger and clumsier than his brother’s, and he’d always had trouble with chopsticks, even after living here for all these years. Currently, Cedric was attempting to help him get a grasp on them in a very hands-on fashion. The girls gasped when Lincoln lost his temper and gave up, throwing the chopsticks onto the table, holding their breath while Cedric, who’d been laughing and teasing, suddenly stopped, realizing he’d hurt his brother’s feelings. He placed a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder and offered a gentle apology, and after the girls finished squealing over their shared meaningful gazes, Lincoln agreed to give the chopsticks another go.

Life as usual in the host club. Busy. Buzzing. Social. Managing somehow to be both the most heterosexual and homosexual environment the world had ever seen, simultaneously.

It's a pretty normal day, honestly - aside from the fact that a few expensive vases have been set out to aid Pierre's plan.

But Alvin wouldn't know about that.

Alvin felt his phone buzz in his pocket. His mom, texting him to ask him if he was okay, if he was on his way home. He quickly swiped her a confirmation, telling her he’d forgotten something in a class and was retrieving it now, sucked in a breath, and entered the room.

Zacharie looked up from romancing a brunette, who was melting under his smile, and fixed his eyes on their returning guest.

“Mr. Blakeley! Did you reconsider our offer? If you’re here to join us, I’m sure we could get you set up right away!” Zacharie greeted, loudly, drawing the attention of several of the women, who seemed confused that Ž was inviting _Alvin Blakeley_ to have a seat and treat the ladies to some affection. A few of them even seemed a little disgusted. Alvin was just too weird for their tastes... but a few in the back were more than a little intrigued. Maybe Pierre wasn’t so crazy. Maybe there _was_ something alluring about the quiet boy with the dark sense of humor.

Regardless, Alvin wasn’t having any of it.

“You stole something of mine, I’m here to take it back so I can finally go home,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down.

The girls were invigorated by the drama, and they turned to Zacharie for his response.

He feigned surprise, _“Stole_ something? What do you mean? What did you lose?”

“My sketchbook,” Alvin says, as if it should be obvious, and the twins had started to take notice of the commotion, “You knew it was important to me, so you took it. I need it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zacharie shakes his head, giving the brunette a kiss on the cheek to turn her into a puddle as he rose from his seat and approached Alvin, “I mean, I know the sketchbook you’re asking for, but I didn’t take it. I’ll gladly help you look though. Come, we’ll find it together.”

Alvin wasn’t convinced, but he begrudgingly followed Zacharie slowly around the room, Ž politely inviting girls to stand, complimenting their manners and grace and how they looked in their uniforms while he checked sofa cushions and under seats. Every once in a while, he’d subtly shoot a glance in Pierre’s direction.

 _If you’re gonna do something, do it now,_ his eyes said. Alvin was already impatient. They wouldn’t be able to hold him for long.

When Alvin enters, Orion is in the middle of speaking.

"These cookies are great, right?? I could just eat bucketfuls of them.. Ares made them himself, he's-" His attention is grabbed by the new entry.

A _guy_. A pretty guy. A pretty guy with...

_"Purple!!!"_

"I'm... purple?" Ares jokes, in an unassuming tenor from behind him. A few of the girls, more used to how little he prefers to speak around Orion and how rare that joke was, giggle appreciatively. Orion doesn't hear them.

"His hair!! It's purple!! Look!!"

Now, Ares obeys and turns his head towards the door. Purple indeed, with a nice powder blue at the ends. Most of the boys here don't dress like that. Or... act like that, given all of his shouting.

"Can you actually have purple hair? Oh, I love it, I love it... Purple is so cool. I should invite him over, I wonder if-" 

The girls, adoring of the childish delight Orion is displaying all receive another treat: Ares placing his hand on Ori's curls and ruffling them affectionately. He immediately shuts both his mouth and his eyes, humming his approval.

"Not now, Ori." 

Periwinkle eyes snap back open. He loves that name even more than the color purple.

"Look, he's angry about something."

One of their guests whispers, in hushed fashion, "They're so cute..."

Another, "How good he is with him..."

Orion pays them no mind, far too used to the theatrics of all this.

"Did you steal anything, Ares? I don't think I did..."

"I don't think you can steal something accidentally... No, I didn't."

"Hm... Did purple boy come to the wrong place?"

"I don't know."

Orion and Ares weren't the only hosts captivated by the new arrival. From his inconspicuous place over in the corner, Pierre has stopped reading.

That's quite the development. When he's acting as a host, he refuses to falter. He continues reading, or speaking, as much as possible to convey confidence, only going silent when he's offering time for his guests to reply to him. He doesn't just trail off abruptly in the middle of a sentence and stare off ahead at someone bursting into the room. Or, at least, if someone enters, he might look to assess who it is, but briefly, and he _never_ stops what he's doing.

The girls look at him, surprised, and then to the door. Alvin Blakeley...?

"Why is he here?" One girl questions.

Pierre looks at her, his lapse in attention over, "Who is it, my darling?"

Confused, she draws his attention to Alvin again.

"Oh, Mr. Blakeley is here... I've invited him to join us, but I hadn't considered that he actually might come."

The girls are taken aback. How did Pierre not notice he was here...? He was looking directly at him... and, more so, why would he invite _him_ to the Host Club? It's really mostly for girls, so if he were here it would be... to...

"No matter."

No matter...? Since when does Pierre not delve into a topic once it's begun?

"I apologize for stopping, I will admit I got a tad distracted... so distracted that my reading left me, and I hadn't even noticed Mr. Blakeley's entrance."

Distracted by _what_ though? One girl, one of the ones resting on his side, gains the courage to meet his eyes and ask.

Pierre is a pro, so, thinking on his feet, he quickly turned the tides in his favor. 

"I was thinking about how pretty you look, and just how glad I am that you're here with me."

A gasp resounds across the group. Pierre may flirt, but not usually like this... he doesn't give special attention. It never seems like he outright cares that much about particular guests. And yet, here he is, playing favorites. Her face reddens, and she stares at Pierre like she didn't quite hear him correctly.

"May I...?" Pierre murmurs.

She nods, although unsure what he's asking her consent for, and then, he leans down to kiss her cheek.

The entire group squeals.

When Zacharie looks over to meet Pierre's eyes, he would instead find him unfazed entirely by Alvin, instead busy nuzzling into the girl on his left, pausing every once and a while to kiss either the hand or the cheek of the girl on the right. He's murmuring compliments and poetry already, so it's unnoticeable from Ž's side of the room when he murmurs, "Shall we get some more tea?"

Another girl, who had not been pampered in the last few moments, revels in the familiarity. Tea is a constant, with Pierre. He always has a few pots of it with his guests, with two sugars no matter the type. This allows her to breathe and calm down her heart, which had been pounding in her chest thanks to the excitement and her own painful desires that Pierre might do the same to her. 

"Yes..." 

"Lovely... I'll order some," He leans forward, discreetly hitting a call button for one of their employees to bring a tea set, then returns his lips to the place they had just rested.

The other hosts wouldn't know, but this button was calling for far, far more than just a cup of chai or earl gray.

Zacharie straightened from peeking between the legs of a sofa, rising up right next to a blushing girl’s knees and pausing by her face to smile and say, “Pardon me, Madame.”

Her face reddened further as she squeaked out her forgiveness, and Zacharie turns towards Alvin, saying, “I’m sorry, but it’s not anywhere around where you stood earlier. Maybe it got kicked around the room when our guests entered.”

"God, I hope not,” Alvin said, and for a second there, he betrayed an emotion other than anger and irritation. He sounded genuinely worried.

Zacharie’s paternal instincts kicked in, even though he wasn’t currently Alvin’s biggest fan. It was clear that Alvin cared about at least one thing.

"I apologize for the carelessness,” he says, quietly, “but I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure we’ll find it. How about you go ask some of our other hosts if they’ve seen it around?”

Alvin flicked a glance at the twins, and then looked towards the two boys he hadn’t met yet. The smaller boy had been excitable about Alvin’s hair. Vin didn’t know what the fuss was about, why everyone here was so damn curious about his hair. All it took was a bleach packet, two tubes of dye, and some patience. It wasn’t sorcery, for crying out loud.

God, that kid was so tiny, too... but Alvin’s odd talent flicked on while staring at the pair, and he identified the ginger as a switch and his miniature friend as the top.

And, like every other man in this room, they were both so handsome.

No, Alvin did not want to go around questioning hot guys about his personal private possessions while they were in host-mode, acting all romantic and sexy. That was a terrible idea, for so many reasons.

"I don’t really... want to,” Alvin muttered, focusing in on Zacharie.

Ž grew serious, and he stepped forward, whispering, “I can’t help you much longer. I _am_ working, you know.”

Alvin leaned in, sarcastically murmuring one reply, one word at a time as if he was talking to a very slow child, “This. Isn’t. A. Job.”

At a more normal volume, he continued, “Besides, don’t you think the girls seeing you lending a hand with the _weird kid’s_ sketchbook will like, I dunno, endear you to them more or whatever? People don’t like me, it makes you seem like an especially good person if you’re nice to me.”

Zacharie was straight-faced for a second, before a sly, almost wicked smirk spread across his face.

"Pierre is right,” he mutters, “You don’t want to be, but I think you’d be better at this than you realize.”

Alvin, taken aback a bit as he’d only said that to convince Zacharie to finish the search with him, opened his mouth to protest when Zacharie suddenly exclaimed, _“Watch out!”_ and shoved him backwards. They both stumbled in opposite directions, making way for the member of the kitchen staff toting a tea tray to pass between them, but Vinnie went much faster than Ž due to the added force of the push. He felt his back slam into something, and, on instinct, he spun to see what it was.

Well, what it _had_ been. By the time Alvin was facing it, it was already in pieces on the floor.

A vase, of course. On display on a heavy wooden pedestal, which was wobbling back into an upright position. Alvin was going to have a bruise from running into the edge of its counter. But he was too busy staring at the shattered glass to think about his aches.

"Are you alright?” Zacharie asked, approaching Alvin again, “Sorry I pushed you, if he’d spilled tea all over you, you would have been burned...”

The employee stood by for a moment, and then carried the tray to the table in front of Pierre, making brief eye contact before disappearing into the kitchens again.

"I-I’m fine,” Alvin stammered, “but your vase has seen better days.”

Zacharie pretended to be surprised as he walked over to see what Alvin had been referring to.

"Oh,” he says, and Alvin noticed the tonal shift and slowly looked up towards his face, “ _that_ vase.”

"What is it? Is it, like, important or something? I can repair it, I think, if you want. I came here to get my book back, not break your shit...” Alvin said, and it was clear that he was finally, properly shaken and anxious.

Zacharie frowned at Vin’s language. He didn’t care when it was just the hosts around, but now their clients were here. But he figured, since Alvin currently didn’t work for them, he could let it slide... although that wouldn’t be the case for long.

"Repairing it would be nice, yes, but it’s not going to make much of a difference,” Zacharie hums, “many of the art on display today is set for a charity auction next week... that was one of our most expensive items, and we can’t very well sell a vase thats been broken, even if you were to put it back together.”

"Oh...” Alvin’s gut squirmed, and he said, “O-okay, well, I’ll pay you for it.”

"Okay, sure. Starting bid was eight million yen,” Zacharie says, calmly.

Alvin freezes.

He does the math in his head, the only thing he’s really good at.

"...seventy-two thousand six hundred USD,” he breathes.

Zacharie was actually a bit impressed for a second, but he slowly nodded, “Yes, that’s correct. If you could get that to us by the auction, that would be wonderful, I mean, it _is_ for charity...”

"I don’t have that kind of money. I’m here on a scholarship,” Alvin says, growing panicked.

"Oh,” Zacharie frowned, flicking his eyes towards Pierre, and his voice was suddenly very flat and robotic as he said, “What an unforeseen turn of events...”

Alvin was staring at Zacharie with a blank, lost look on his face, and then, his eyebrows started to narrow, “You... _pushed_ me...”

"We’ll have to figure out some other way for you to pay us back. You might also have to write an apology letter to that charity, explaining how you lost them an eight million yen donation...” Zacharie carried on, unfazed.

"You mean how _you_ lost them a-“

"I’m sure we can figure out a way to make everything kosher again,” Ž interrupts, casually.

Alvin was pure lactic acid and kinetic energy. Rage was rolling off him in waves. And yet he didn’t move or speak any further. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had no proof that Ž had intentionally knocked him into that table, he had no evidence that it wasn’t somehow his own fault for not paying enough attention to his surroundings. He was caught. And nothing pissed him off more than knowing that this time, he really couldn’t have the last word.

Glass shattering is frankly one of the worst noises. Ever. It’s loud beyond belief, and it’s one of the things that crawls into your brain and screams in there in order to unsettle you to your core. At the sound of the vase (and consequentially, Alvin’s freedom) breaking, one of the girls in Orion and Ares’ group nearly falls from her seat in terror. Instantaneously, the former is on his feet, catching her in soft, warm hands.

“Are you alright, dear?! I’m here, I’m so sorry! I’ll protect you from the shards!”

She straightens and sits down again, blushing. It’s adorable that Orion cares so much, even if it’s unlikely that he would be a good protector, should they even need that role. (Or so they think.)

“Yes, thank you Ori...”

“My pleasure,” He beams, “I’m glad to be of service to you.”

He settles back onto Ares’ lap, who accepts him despite the fact that he’s highly distracted watching the drama unfold.

“That vase was eight million yen...” Orion now focuses on it, kicking his feet absently, “Is he going to pay for it..?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh no... the charity... what are we going to do...?”

What are they going to do, indeed?

The sound of the glass shattering has a different effect on Pierre’s side of the room. He pulls his lips from the lovely lady next to him and raises his eyes to see what’s happened. In front of him is the employee, looking straight at him. Their eyes meet for a moment, before they move away. A job well done. He has to make sure to pay them extra after his shift.

“Excuse me, ladies, but I believe I must take care of this. Please enjoy your tea.”

He disjoints himself from the two he had been doting on, who are blatantly miserable to see him go, checks his hair is in place, and strides over to the site of destruction. A brow raising, he takes in Zacharie, then Alvin. His chapstick is smudged from all the kissing.

“What on Earth happened here? You know, that’s worth 8 million yen...” His sight trails down to the damage, and his brows furrow. Oh, dear.

“Yes, god, I heard,” Alvin snaps, exasperated, his patience evaporating as Pierre came to join them, “Your fearless, air-headed leader over here pushed me and I bumped into it.”

Zacharie looked like he was trying to decide if he was offended or not. After all, Alvin had called him air-headed, but he had also called him fearless and a leader, so maybe it balanced out. In any case, he looked up towards Pierre to defend himself, even though he knew he didn’t have to, “I was simply trying to protect our visitor here from being scalded by boiling water, I think I acted nobly. But now we have this mess to clean up, in more ways than one... what do you think we should do? He’s going to have to pay us back _somehow."_

Alvin gritted his teeth, “You pushed me on purpose, I don’t owe you guys a cent.”

“He doesn’t have the money,” Zacharie presses onward, effectively ignoring Alvin altogether, almost speaking as if he wasn’t right there, listening, “What are his other options?”

Pierre has only allowed insults to himself because he planned on getting revenge to Alvin. He will not allow insults to Zacharie – only he is allowed to call him air-headed.

“Hm, I didn’t know that acting selflessly was the same as being stupid. I take it you consider yourself a genius for not caring an ounce about those around you?”

Like before, he does not allow Alvin to respond.

“We are stupid, yes, in that respect. A group of utter dunces for giving eight million yen to those less fortunate than us.”

Ah. Nearby, Orion looks up at Ares with his brows pinched together.

”He’s really mad...”

What an astute observation.

“The truly _intelligent_ option here would be to allow you to walk away and refuse to give what we promised, but we don’t play that way. I do not go back on a vow, no matter the consequences, and neither does Zacharie. Neither of us deserve to have to spend that much from our own pockets because _you_ couldn’t watch what you were doing.”

Sensing his temper toeing the boundary into no return, he halts to steady his breathing. His voice hasn’t risen, but that’s a reserve that is growing more difficult with every word. He’s not sure why he’s so angry. He orchestrated this, didn’t he...? What’s causing him to be so upset...? Maybe it’s part of the act. Pierre is an incredible actor, when he puts his mind to it.

“You have three options: pay us out of pocket, tell the headmaster and the charity you broke the vase, or work here for us in order to replace the donation over time.”

Alvin’s fists, clenched at his side, slowly uncurled and his arms hung limp. He looked defeated. But somehow, to Zacharie, anyway, it didn’t feel like they’d won. Alvin looked... broken.

When he spoke, it was a quiet, exhausted mutter.

“Goddamn capitalist rich bastards...” he murmured, “...sure... take advantage of the middle class kid... do what you do best... _make daddy proud.”_

He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, it seemed, and his voice was soft enough that most of the girls that were watching with bated breath couldn’t hear his criticisms.

Zacharie didn’t like that assessment. He hadn’t thought of it like that... like intentionally trapping a poor person in a financial nightmare. God, that was _super_ “one-percent” of them, wasn’t it? He had to believe that they were making the right choice, though. They wanted to pull him out of his shell. Give him a place to belong. He’d learn to like it here. He’d grow. It’s for his own good.

...or were they just playing god?

“Whatever,” Alvin sighed, a little louder to indicate that he was talking to Pierre and Zacharie again, “Whatever. You wanted a pet, you got one. But I came here for my sketchbook. Give it back. Give it back and then I’ll do whatever you want. That’s all I care about at this point.”

Zacharie looked at Pierre, his expression unreadable, and he requested, quietly, “Have you seen his sketchbook anywhere? We were looking for it but we can’t seem to find it out here. Maybe you or one of the other hosts came across it and moved it...?”

Alvin doesn’t know, but saying _make daddy proud_ cuts deep for Pierre.

Contrary to the rumors, his father had _not_ been an angel. He was not absent due to the fact that he had business in the Higher Realm. He was absent because a deadbeat who ditched his mother the second he heard she was pregnant. She had contacted him repeatedly after giving birth, but he refused to pay child support for even one baby, let alone two. After that, he disappeared... seemingly off the face of the Earth. Until last year. It had been a normal day at home when he burst in, demanding to be a part of their family again. To see his children. That had not been his real motive. He didn't give a shit about the twins, dead or alive. No. What truly mattered was the fact that Emily had built a technology empire, and he wanted some of the earnings.

So... When Alvin said that, it conjured up a clear image for Pierre: that _man_ hollering as security dragged him away. He’s a greedy, heartless bastard..

That isn’t too far off from him, isn’t it...?

He’s a bad person... He’s a bad person... He’s a bad person. He’s a bad person. _He’s a bad-_

“I’m so glad you’ll be joining us,” He hums, charmingly. “You won’t regret your decision.

At the request, he raises his hand to his chin, holding it in a way not unlike how he held Alvin’s earlier. He puzzles over the location of the sketchbook.

“I thought I saw Cedric with it... I’m sure he would know.”

At last, the final part of his plan falls into place: setting out the sketchbook where he knew Cedric would find it - in order to further remove himself from the possibility of being blamed for this.

Alvin might think it in his anger, but he would have utterly no evidence, and would come to accept that theory as false over time.

Alvin could just snap Pierre’s neck. I mean, he wasn’t strong enough, but he was so goddamn angry right now that despite his best attempts to suppress the mental image, it thrust its way into the forefront of his mind anyway. He didn’t want to be a person that wished harm on others, but today had been... ridiculous. Blaming him for breaking this vase, when it had been Zacharie that had pushed him. He wouldn’t have even been here if they hadn’t stolen his sketchbook, hell, if they hadn’t literally kidnapped him after the bell rang. How could that be his fault? Why was he being held accountable? He already had too much on his plate to juggle this, too.

Pierre was right, though.

Alvin would come around.

Before long he’d be blaming himself for all of this, like he usually did.

He’d figure out a way to convince himself that he deserved this.

He deserved to break his back and his spirit working day and night just to avoid being the massive disappointment he always knew himself to be.

If he didn’t want to do any of that, he should have not been a disappointment in the first place. Plain and simple.

Right now, he was still pissed at Pierre and the rest of the club. But tomorrow, he’d be pissed at himself.

"Cedric,” he muttered, “Right. Sure.”

He sounded... far away. Like everything was so overwhelming that instead of feeling anymore, he just... stopped participating in reality.

Dissociation.

He says nothing else, simply wandering around the room towards the twins, making a wide berth around the most populated areas of the room, like he was afraid to be touched.

Meanwhile, Zacharie scooted up next to Pierre, whispering, in French, “Are you sure about this...?”

Pierre watches him go, a similar numbness taking over him, body and soul. He’s his father. He’s taking advantage of an innocent who doesn’t deserve it, all thanks to his own greed and anger. It’s not the truth - he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t genuinely want to help Alvin - but it’s what he believes for the moment.

He looks towards Zacharie stoically, and replies, also in French, so close to his native tongue, “Yes, I'm positive.”

Zacharie knew about his vice president’s tendency to bear everything on his shoulders. If Pierre wasn’t carrying everything all at once all on his own, he felt somehow like he wasn’t doing enough. Over the past year, Ž had done everything in his power to remind Pierre, over and over again, that they were partners. They were in this together. He hoped it was helping. He certainly didn’t forget about those efforts now, either.

“Alright. I trust you. I have your back on this... we'll pull this off together,” Zacharie insisted, and, in lieu of taking his hand to give it an encouraging squeeze, knowing he couldn’t display that kind of affection for Pierre in front of their guests for multiple reasons, he brushed his knuckles against Pierre’s, subtly. They weren’t dating. Zacharie was aware of that. He was aware that with Pierre’s withdrawn nature, he likely never would reciprocate Ž’s feelings, even if he did feel the same way. But Zacharie cared too deeply about Pierre to refrain from supporting him in any way he could, regardless of how coldly his right-hand man took it.

Poor Pierre. He’s seventeen and he feels like he needs to be utterly flawless; mistakes are not permitted. He also believes that in order to accomplish everything to the best of his abilities, he also needs to not sleep as much as he should. Well... sort of. Two years ago, he was diagnosed with severe insomnia, which makes him unable to sleep even when he wants to, but... he doesn’t take his meds for it. He doesn’t try to sleep aside from a couple of hours. Roughly one third of life is spent sleeping. Pierre finds that a waste - so much can be accomplished with that one third that so many people miss out on. Instead, he writes. And reads. And studies. And memorizes. And creates. That one third is spent expanding his brain capacity as much as possible. Even if it’s incredibly difficult to work when your senses are holding a massive protest for you to sleep.

So... yeah. Teenaged Pierre also doesn’t sleep. Hurray...

However...

In the little time he does spend asleep, one thing remains common: he can’t stop dreaming about Zacharie.

Zacharie, Zacharie, Zacharie.

He does feel the same way about him, though he adamantly refuses to admit it. Love is just a chemical, and one he can beat with enough brain power. ...he wishes he could tell his subconscious that, so he could quit dreaming about kissing him tenderly in the empty club room, or snuggling with him under one of those damn kotatsu he loves so dearly...

This feeling has lingered for months, despite Pierre’s resolve to crush it. He’s tried everything - he ignored Zacharie for a while, then hung out with him all the time, then tried forcing himself to fall for someone else... he even spent a few weeks over a break trying to masturbate it away in belief it was just sexual frustration. It didn’t help. All that did was make him start dreaming about fucking Zacharie, which only worsened it all.

His consciousness with it is... bizarre. While he’s aware he has a crush, he refuses to believe it’s anything other than puberty. He refuses to believe that he and Zacharie could ever be something. He refuses to take his feelings as anything other than a hindrance. A weakness.

He would not reciprocate. Doing so would just be a travesty for them both.

Zacharie disagreed. But he wasn’t like the other hosts. No one really knew anything at all about Zacharie. He always said he was from an island near Central America, but never specified which one, for the sake of his own protection. Being a prince fleeing his homeland after his family was forcibly ejected from the throne, Zacharie had nothing left to lose. If Pierre were to confess, Zacharie would consider it one of his few wins as of the past few years.

But he knew that Pierre had far more at stake than he did. Just because he was reckless in pursuit of love didn’t mean he had to push everyone around him to risk their reputations and their families for the sake of Zacharie’s happiness.

He was content with seeing Pierre succeed, even if he wasn’t a part of it.

...but his chest did ache at the thought of him risking those things for someone else, instead.

“Thank you,” Is the stoic reply Pierre gives, without even a glance to acknowledge their hands touching. From here, he turns on his heel and returns to his ever-so-patient guests, apologizing profusely for the delay. He does not kiss any of them again, or resume in anything like the affection he had displayed earlier. He doesn’t need to look distracted anymore, and in the event he had been feeling particularly generous towards them, his mood has soured too much to be indulged in anyway.

Pierre wants to go home. He wants to sleep. 

But he will not.

Zacharie doesn’t watch Pierre leave. He doesn’t want to be suspicious in that way. Instead, he follows Alvin with his eyes until Orion appears, and then rejoins his groupies, apologizing for the delay and flagging down a staff member to clean up the broken glass, for safety reasons.

Alvin’s reserve to avoid other people fails miserably. Why? Orion, of course. He hops off of Ares’ lap wordlessly, grabs a cookie, and follows Alvin.

“Hey,” He says, approaching him delicately and offering it, “You look like you need it... I’m Orion, it’s nice to meet you!"

Alvin slows to a stop. Years of horror movie-watching experience had rendered him nigh unshakeable in the face of jumpscares like Orion sneaking up on him. Not that Ori had done that intentionally - Alvin was just so detached that he hadn’t noticed him. But even so, it didn’t startle him, at least not outwardly. He turned towards Orion, taking him in.

Under different circumstances, he would have wanted to carry Orion around in his pocket.

Emotionlessly, not acknowledging the cookie, he said, “I like your skirt.”

Oh, yea, Alvin was definitely out of it. His eyes were open. The lights were on, but nobody was home. He wasn’t even capable of recognizing Orion’s name at the moment, let alone offering his own. There was something glassy about his dark brown irises. They were probably very pretty in the sunlight, but right now, they were flat and dull. Lifeless.

Orion is a tad unsettled by this turn of events. Alvin is... so not doing good. This isn’t something he knows how to deal with, but he’ll try his best. Alvin is pretty, and he highly doubts he deserves to feel the way he does now. He moves the hand with the cookie a smidge closer. 

Effortlessly, as bright as the stars in the night sky in the country, he chirps, “Thank you!! I like your hair - it’s stunning.”

When Alvin accepts the cookie, it was like he was on autopilot. He didn’t eat, he just held it, still staring blankly towards Orion.

“I heard,” he responds, monotonously, before realizing that that was a compliment, and he was already in deep enough shit with these people, so he should at least be polite to the ones who hadn’t (yet) wronged him personally, “Thanks.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, where Alvin was just staring at Orion and holding the cookie.

“Uh... did you... need something from me...?” He asked, eventually, as if he was trying to remember the words - and, actually, he might have been. Japanese wasn’t his first language. It was possible he was translating in his mind. It was interesting. The way he was raised, he grew up speaking Thai and English interchangeably to the point where it was unclear which was technically his _first_ language. So, when learning Japanese, whereas he’d never had to put much thought into translating the Thai or the English in his head, this new experience was the opposite. Sometimes a sentence started in his head in English, sometimes it started in Thai. When he was like this, usually he bounced from language to language until he settled on the one he meant to speak aloud. This time around, he’d gone from English, to Thai, and _then_ into Japanese. His brain was completely fried.

A lil blush heats up on Orion’s face when Alvin indicates he’d heard. His excitement must have affected his volume, then. Oh well. No harm done. If Alvin were embarrassed by his appreciation, that was not his fault.

“You’re welcome. And no, I didn’t - I just wanted to introduce myself and see if you were alright. I’ve had Pierre angry at me before - it’s not fun.”

Orion has no idea that Alvin isn’t from Japan. He’s years younger than Pierre, and so the time they spent in Haiti was enough for him to learn a bit of the language, but only as a small child. By now, with most of his life spent in Japan learning the language and surrounded by other Japanese people, he’s lost most of it. He doesn’t really know what it’s like to speak a second language.

Besides - Alvin looks Asian. It’s easy, if a little rude, to assume he’s from around here, and is just not speaking well because he’s tired or upset.

“You probably wanna be left alone - but if you don’t, or you want more food, you saw our set up. Don’t be afraid, ‘kay?” He smiles, encouragingly, and turns around to rejoin Ares, Usa-Chan, and the ladies, professing how dearly he had missed them in his absence.

Pierre is exhausted. That’s not a new development, but the events of the day have left him thoroughly weakened. He doesn’t have the physical or social to remain with these girls right now, but he can’t exactly tell them to leave.

Ugh.

The girls immediately to his sides are trying to get him to open up again, but to no avail. Pierre is skilled in the tactics of evasion. If Zacharie were to look over at him again, he’d find that he is subdued once more - and look over, he does. He noticed that Pierre had run out of steam, and he knew that Alvin was going to have to interrupt the twins to find his sketchbook, so he came up with a plan to lighten everyone’s load so they could deal with today a little better. After a smirk and a hushed question to his ladies, all of which gasped, giggled, and nodded, he hopped to his feet and led them across the room, where he slid onto the bench of a grand piano and opened it, beginning to play. Immediately, girls around the room began to notice, and a handful of each group peeled away to watch until Zacharie had himself quite the crowd. Pierre now only had to entertain a group about a third the size it had been previously, and this also gave Vin an easier opening to confront the twins.

The piano... Bless Zacharie and his piano playing. He’s so incredibly delightful. Pierre is pleased to have an extra chance to hear him play, as well as the advantages it gives him in the moment. It is a great relief to have so many girls decide they’re more interested in the music, and an even greater relief to be able to ask, “Tell me, do you ladies play any instruments of your own?”

Conversation is hard when it’s with random girls who are only around because they think he’s attractive, and he is not permitted to info-dump by his own rules. Light, impersonal starters are always a lifesaver. They speak politely while Alvin is retrieving his sketchbook- each girl providing information about their musical hobbies while he listens patiently and files it all away in his mind. When they finally get to what _he_ plays, he explains that his siblings have more musical talent than he does, but he has some skill with the violin and the clarinet. This results in them begging to bring one of them in to play, which he considers. Maybe. If he can practice a little more.

Alvin didn’t head towards the twins right away, of course. He was still processing Orion’s appearance and holding the cookie with an absent expression on his face, before finally remembering what he was there to do.

He made his way over to Lincoln and Cedric. His greeting was short and sharp, but they didn’t mind, because they were still a little surprised by the fact that, after only one day of knowing them, and having never actually been properly introduced, Vin could already tell them apart.

Their faces were nearly identical, and their voices were similar, too. They both wore corrective lenses, and today they had both decided against contacts and were sporting the exact same set of frames - rectangular gunmetal. The only real difference was their weight, and that was very slight. You usually had to know them a while to be able to discern which boy was heavier.

And yet, here Alvin was, greeting them with a flat, “Cedric, Pierre told me you might know where my sketchbook is.”

He’d been meeting Cedric’s gaze as he said this.

The remaining girls were a little put off by Alvin’s demeanor. The twins tried to take it in stride, and Cedric reached inside his jacket to pull out the book, flipping through it as he had earlier, saying, “Yea, it must have fallen out of your bag at some point, it was on the table over there, so I grabbed it for safekeeping. I hope you don’t mind, but Lincoln and I looked through it.”

Lincoln chimed in, “We couldn’t help it. You’re very talented.”

The girls seemed a little transfixed by the twins’ compliments to the zombie of a man standing before them, and Alvin realized, distantly, that that was probably the only reason they were saying these things at all. Just like he said; being nice to the weird new kid gave you big “good guy” points.

Cedric continued, “We know it’s a little bit invasive, but you _did_ drop it, so if it was really that private, you probably would have kept a better eye on it... and I struggle to stay out of trouble anyway.”

"Leaving _me_ to clean up your messes,” Lincoln retorts, sourly, causing Cedric to grin as he pried deeper into Alvin’s secrets.

Cedric’s voice grew a little sultrier the longer he spoke, “A few of these are a little scary, but there are some others that my brother and I just adored... maybe later, you could demonstrate your inspirations for us...?”

Later, Alvin would be able to process that Cedric was talking about Vin’s more sexual drawings. He was making a flirtatious joke. Ironically, due to Vin’s dissociation, the girls, who had never seen any of Alvin’s homoerotic art, caught onto Cedric’s implications much faster than Alvin did, and they all blushed and giggled at the tension of it all.

See, Cedric and Lincoln were singularly lucky. The roles they’d received to play for the club meant that homoerotic subtext was basically their artistic medium; the girls’ ate it up. So, in the context of club activities, they were free to flirt with any man they liked, and the girls would just consider it to be playacting and teasing for their benefit. As a result, despite being in perhaps the greatest danger should they be outed, they were the most unabashedly gay members of the club.

The point is, Cedric flirting came off as a joke to get the women riled up, but he was being entirely serious, and Alvin didn’t recognize any of it. He had only just realized that Cedric had been investigating his art. His brain had only just caught up to that one line, and, snatching the sketchbook away and snapping it shut, Vin says, “I mind very much, thank you. Stay out of my stuff.”

Cedric raised his hands in defense, smiling easily, “Fine, fine. If you insist. But if you change your mind later, and decide you do in fact want to involve us in your _stuff..._ ”

"You know where we’ll be,” Lincoln finishes for Cedric, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Alvin stowed the book in his bag, making sure to clasp it shut, and walked away, still holding the cookie.

He was heading for the exit. Entirely on autopilot, thinking mostly about how he’d told his mother he’d be home soon, he hadn’t even considered the fact that Pierre might have something for him to do today. He didn’t know when debt repayment began, all he wanted right now was to go home. It was probably for the best, anyway; he wouldn’t be of any use to anyone all zoned out like he was.

At this moment, Pierre glances over and notices that Alvin is making his exit.

Wouldn’t you know it - he _had_ prepared something for him to do that day.

He explains what he’s doing to his guests before he does, then quickly gets to it. Just before Vin opens the door to leave, he would feel his phone buzz. The text, once open, is from an unknown number and reads:

**}Get some rest. You need it, and you have a big day ahead of you.**

**}-P.T.**

How the fuck did Pierre get his phone number?

Alvin feels his phone go off and pauses in front of the door to check it, assuming that it was his mother, and realizes that it wasn’t her after all. He had no idea where Pierre had found his number. At this point, he was pretty sure the man was stalking him. Seemed like he had a crush. Too bad Pierre was a sub, otherwise Alvin would be all over him. Poor obsessed, unrequited lover boy.

Alvin read the text, then slowly blinked and turned his gaze towards Pierre to lock eyes with him, his expression dark and empty. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and walked out.

Get some rest... what kind of a sick joke was that? Delay him getting home, give him a panic attack, and then tell him to rest up? He had homework to do. He had to study. He’d _hoped_ to get a chance to draw. And he was supposed to prepare dinner tonight. Taking into account the amount of time it would take him walk home and, assuming he hadn’t fully recovered by the time he got there, how long it took for him to get his feet under him again, he probably wouldn’t get around to his homework until after supper.

There was no way he was getting to bed on time tonight.

\---

Alvin had been correct. He did not get to bed on time that night. In fact, he fell asleep at his desk, some time around two thirty in the morning. He’d managed to finish his homework, but he’d had to slack on the studying, and even rushing, he didn’t get it all done. He awoke the next morning wanting to snap his phone in half for signaling his alarm. He’d passed out in his dress shirt and pants, so he just put on some deodorant and his blazer, ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and skipped eating to start his walk to school.

Let me clarify. He had _time_ to eat, he just felt too sick for breakfast. The idea of actually swallowing something more substantial than water made him feel physically ill. He’d eat at lunch later, after he’d woken up a bit more. In the meantime, he’d just have to survive a few classes on an empty stomach. He could do that. He’d done it before.

The twins, who had always been in his class but had not taken any notice of him until now, kept pestering him throughout the day and even tried to accompany him to lunch, but he went out of his way to lose them and then hid out in the courtyard to eat there.

Or, well, he went to the courtyard to eat, but when he opened his backpack, he found he’d forgotten to pack anything.

No breakfast, no lunch, hardly any sleep. He’d turned in all his homework but his classwork for the day was severely lacking. He wanted to say that there was no way that things could get any worse, but he knew that wasn’t true.

He was _sooo_ excited to see Pierre’s disapproving, high-and-mighty expression at the sight of the dark circles under his eyes. So excited to deal with his smug, condescending bullshit. _So_ excited. So so so so so so so...

He didn’t know what he’d have to do today, but he already wanted it to be over.

Oh, well. If he couldn’t eat at lunch, at least he could spend the time sketching.

At the end of the day, while he was packing up, Alvin felt a heavy, warm hand drop onto his shoulder, and Cedric leaned into his line of vision, grinning, “You ready for your first day on the job?”

Vin didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up from organizing his notebooks.

“Hey,” Lincoln says from the other side, his tone much more gentle and kind, “Don’t be nervous, you’re going to have fun. It will be alright.”

Alvin ignored him, too.

“The boss told us he had something special planned for you today, so you might not even have to interact with any of the girls yet,” Cedric attempts to join Lincoln in being encouraging.

Alvin didn’t respond directly. He just shrugged Cedric’s hand off and stood up, tossing his backpack onto his shoulder and pulling out his phone to remind his mom that he’d be home late.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled, and Cedric laughed and slung his arm around Vin’s neck.

“That’s the spirit,” he says, “let’s go.”

Alvin would legitimately rather be dragged by a semi over broken glass, but he didn’t get to make that choice, and he let the twins haul him back to Music Room 3.

Luckily for Alvin, Pierre is not the biggest hypocrite in the world. While he will be disappointed to see him so exhausted, it will not result in a high-and-mighty expression or smug, condescending bullshit. Instead, it will result in Pierre realizing that the kid he had adopted due to their shared characteristics has... more shared characteristics than he had first thought.

He’s his pet project now - it’s settled.

The music room is practically empty compared to how busy it is with the girls, but it feels oh-so-full anyway.

The tables and couches that normally take up space in the middle of the room have been pushed aside, and instead a girl Alvin has never seen before is leading Ares in a tango and throwing out pointers every few seconds. He has this breathless look on his face, like, _this is fun but oh god am I not doing well,_ but it cracks a few seconds after the door opens for him to burst into laughter.

“Stop-“

“You need the practice!”

“I’m done.”

“You’ll stumble all over yourself at the ball.”

“I’ll just not dance.”

“Oh please, and let down your guests? Let down _me?”_

“Ladies, ladies,” Pierre cuts in, without looking up from the typing he’s doing at his table in the corner, “You’re both pretty.”

Let me lay out this scene a little more.

This lady with Ares... she’s familiar, but not too familiar. But not too... not-familiar. Alvin has never seen her before, but she’s pretty much an exact copy of Pierre, except shorter, female, and sporting black hair, so he can figure out who she is pretty easily. She’s wearing the yellow dress that’s uniform for the feminine students, but with the boys’ blazer on top. That unruly black hair is cut in a bizarre 80’s mullet with a white streak bleached in the front. Wow.

Ares has his own blazer off - I’d say she’s wearing his, but it would be far too big for her - and his sleeves rolled up. The dancing’s making him heat up.

Also sitting off to the side is the boy from before, Orion. He’s seated up on a table, clinging to Usa-Chan and swinging his legs avidly off into the space below him. Today, his pink skirt is replaced with a pair of purple pants. Perhaps Alvin has inspired him...? Anyway, he’s focused deeply on the dancing, intrigue sparkling in those periwinkle eyes of his.

No one has acknowledged the twins’ or Alvin’s entrance yet. Pierre would be upset to know how delayed his notice had been, if he knew.

Cedric and Lincoln brought Alvin in much the way they had yesterday: as a prisoner. Cedric’s grip around Vin’s neck looked friendly to an outsider, but Alvin noticed early on that no matter how much he wriggled, Cedric refused to let him go. Vin liked physical affection, but this did not feel like that. It was making him anxious, as if he wasn’t anxious enough walking back through those doors again.

Cedric didn’t want to keep him in a headlock like this, but he didn’t want to let him run away, either. He was pretty sure that Pierre or Zacharie would send him and his brother out to catch him anyway, and he just didn’t want to deal with that.

“Looking good, Ares,” Cedric announced when Ares declared he was done dancing.

Ares salutes the three, grinning wide, then decides to take this chance to evade. A second later, he’s standing by Orion’s table. Ori brushes his curls back into place.

Lincoln picked up where Cedric left off, “Afternoon, Miss Percy.”

Percy would be used to these two calling her that. Zacharie was the boss, but Pierre and Percy were on another level when it came to the respect they deserved, at least in Lincoln and Cedric’s eyes.

Alvin didn’t like the loud voices so close to his ears, he didn’t like how it was going to draw attention to him, squirming in Cedric’s grasp and staring so determinedly at the polished marble floor.

Zacharie was also sitting on a table, a little ways away from Ori. This is because in addition to being gay as all hell, he and Orion are also quite short. His legs were crossed, and he perked up when the twins hauled Alvin in.

"Hello,” he greets, “I see you’ve brought our new little friend!”

Alvin did not respond to this patronizing turn of phrase.

"We’re in the same class, so we walked him over,” Lincoln says, brightly.

"Excellent! It would have been a shame if he’d gotten lost,” Zacharie replies.

"Would it really though...?” Alvin muttered, avoiding eye contact altogether.

At the sound of the new voices, Pierre’s gaze snaps to the door, where he takes in the sight ahead of him. Alvin. Thank god the twins had brought him. It saved a whole load of hassle. He decides not to move just yet. Allow Alvin to get accustomed to the new faces before gut punching him with his presence.

Percy likes Lincoln. Anyone who awards her politeness who actually knows her and doesn’t want to get a pass at her money is like, everything to her. She loves him. Blowing a kiss playfully, she pads over to the three boys and starts investigating the prize they’re holding onto so tightly.

“So you’re Pierre’s new pet, hm?”

Lincoln ruffles Alvin’s hair, much to his disdain and misery, and says, jovially, “Yes, this is him. He’s not off-leash yet.”

Cedric flashes a wink, adding, “He’s still not housebroken. We’re working on that.”

Okay.

Here’s the thing.

Alvin fucking loved being humiliated. It made him hotter than almost anything else. Two handsome, dark young men, mocking him and comparing him to a dog? That was right up his alley.

However.

This was outside the bedroom. This was in front of other people. This was happening while he was exhausted and hungry and angry and scared. He felt truly dehumanized right now, even if the boys were only teasing. Neither of them really meant what they were saying. But it still hurt.

It didn’t show on Alvin’s face, however. Nothing beyond a deepening red hue in his cheeks. He was still avoiding eye contact.

Percy does the elevator eyes, too, but they’re more playful. Her eyes are ice, but they don’t feel cold when she’s looking at those she enjoys. With the hosts around, and all the conversation she and Pierre had about Alvin Blakeley last night, this is now the case.

“Don’t worry - it’s not as bad as it sounds. You’ll have fun here, I’m sure of it. If you don’t, tell me, and I’ll wring my brother’s neck.”

Alvin only half listens to Percy’s encouragements.

Pierre chooses this as the time to join them. His posture unparalleled and his gait confident, he calls, “Will you, now? I’d love to watch you try.”

This shuts her up immediately, and she apologizes with bated breath. Pierre even has his twin sister under his control...

“Alvin.” He surveys him, then his frown deepens. 

“You look utterly exhausted. How determined are you to disobey me?”

Oh, that stuff I said about Pierre not judging him or being high-and-mighty? Yeah, sorry. That was only on the inside, not the outside.

Alvin spent much of the walk home yesterday trying to figure out why Pierre got under his skin so much, but today, upon meeting his twin, Alvin finally realized what it was.

They were his sister.

Both of them. They were Elizabeth. It was like someone had taken Elizabeth and then split her in two and set them on Alvin to torment him, Pierre being her mind and Percy being her demeanor. He wondered if Elizabeth privately thought about Alvin the way Pierre talked to him. He wondered if Percy was actually as friendly as she seemed. He didn’t know. He couldn’t read them, just like he could never read Elizabeth.

When Pierre arrived and scolded him, Alvin’s jaw tightened, like how you might brace yourself before throwing a punch, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he slowly looked up at Pierre’s face. His eyes were somehow even duller than yesterday, accentuated by the dark circles that shadowed underneath them.

He let a moment of cold, brooding silence hang, before saying, in a shockingly clear and calm voice, “I had homework.”

There was something heavy about Alvin’s silences. Something tangible. It was like you could feel the emptiness creep into your ears, black tendrils made of television static wrapping around your mind and squeezing it till all you could think about was how quiet it was.

Percy is aware, immediately, that she had overstepped. That the twins had overstepped.

Alvin was dying here.

She can understand why. For the time being, Pierre is initiating Alvin because he reminds him of himself, but he’s actually much more similar to Percy. 

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just observes, without protest, when Pierre sweeps in to take control of things. She’s silent, another perfect postured Pierre standing directly next to him, until Alvin mentions -

“Homework. Only the worst creation to come out of humankind.”

The boy had wondered if Percy were as friendly as she seems. This would prove otherwise... though her tone is generally friendly, there’s an underlying layer of bitterness there.

Pierre doesn’t break character enough to even look at her. Well, he doesn’t, until she says, “Let him go.” It’s an order, and one that Lincoln and Cedric might be hesitant to obey. Directly jumping ahead and doing something before Pierre had okay’ed it was suicide. But... this was Percy. We’ve already established they hold respect for her.

So, Pierre looks. A brow quirks upwards, as if daring her to continue to test him, but she stares right back, unbothered. She knows about his tendency to act like a dick so that people dislike him. She also knows that, inside, he agrees with her.

“Yes,” He permits, eventually, “Nothing can get done if you have him in a headlock the entirety of his visit.”

Visit...?

Cedric’s grip around Alvin’s throat loosens a bit when Percy demands he be freed, but he doesn’t completely release him until Pierre had weighed in. When he finally did, Alvin was able to stand up straight - his back was killing him from sleeping at his desk and getting dragged here twice now, in addition to the bruise that had formed from crashing into the table - and massage his collar bones that ached from the pressure of Cedric’s grasp.

Pierre turns back to the three, eyes flicking sternly towards the darkness under Alvin’s own. There is a moment of silence here, a moment where the true power of the boy’s heaviness gets to him. His expression doesn’t falter.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not acting as a host today. You will stay until right before we begin, and then,” He tilts his head downwards a bit, peering out at Vin over his glasses as he had yesterday, “You sleep.”

Percy has adopted Pierre’s exact same expression again, that intellectual menace, except... Alvin is unaware that it’s not for him in the slightest. Really, she’s playing Pierre’s words over and over again in her head, so that she can copy them exactly when she goes to his room tonight to tell him, unkindly, to get some rest. That was going to prove to be a delicious moment, she’s sure of it.

“I have practice,” She declares, once it’s committed to memory, “Do me a favor and don’t kill him, will you? I think he’s cute, it would be a shame if you ruined that.”

This plays directly into Pierre’s facade, to elevate his ego enough that he permits her to stare directly into Alvin’s eyes and nod once - encouragement.

Then she, and the little power she had over Pierre, steps through the door, leaving Vinnie to the wolves.

Alvin still hadn’t learned not to talk back to Pierre. To be honest, if they really wanted him to play the Bad Boy, it was probably best if he never did. He had to be unafraid to challenge authority to sell the part well.

"Homework doesn’t just stop, you know. It just keeps coming. Over and over. It’s a cruel world, people never stop making you read at home and then write bullshit essays about it,” he says, bitterly, “so no promises that I get to sleep tonight, either.”

Lincoln flicked a glance towards Alvin out of the corner of his eyes. Silently, he was wondering why this kid spent so much time doing homework when he was not only an honor student, but also an asshole. It’s a surprise that it took him so long to get it all done, I mean, isn’t he here as a reward for his academic success? Shouldn’t that stuff be easy for him? And wouldn’t it be more like him to just skip it and slack off entirely, cruising through classes on his classwork and test scores instead? Sacrificing sleep to get things done for school sounded uncharacteristically diligent of Alvin, based on what they’d seen of him so far.

Of course, he also didn’t seem to have any friends. Like, at all. He never talked to anyone in class. He never sat with anyone at lunch. He never even raised his hand to speak. On his first day here, an interested girl asked him for a pencil so she could chat him up, only to have him silently set a folded piece of paper on top of his desk that read, _I only have one pencil. Ask someone else,_ and it’s been there every day since. He wasn’t just anti-social, he was actually _anti_ social. Like vehemently against it. Lincoln wouldn’t be surprised if Alvin held organized protests against talking to other people, but then again, that would require him to, you know, talk to other people.

The point is, maybe Alvin had so much free time due to shutting people out and adamantly pushing people away that he did homework just to entertain him while he was bored and alone at home.

But that still didn’t explain why he’d sacrifice sleep over it.

Alvin was a puzzle.

That must be why Pierre had taken such an interest in him.

The brow that Pierre had raised arches upwards just a little further. He’s sizing Alvin up. Trying to figure him out. It drops, his expression masking itself further. Personally, he doesn’t understand the evident hatred towards his homework. Pierre _enjoys_ homework. Being able to delve further into a subject, having something that’s sure to keep him busy after school, is nice. There are some days where he’d rather do his own work as opposed to more schoolwork, but we’ve already said that he doesn’t mind staying up late on those days.

So yeah - on a personal standpoint, he doesn’t relate to Alvin. But his siblings do.

He’s heard far, far too many rants from Percy, enraged that she has to spend time after school annotating some meaningless article when she has practice to do. There are so many other things in the world, but the academy acts like they’re the only thing to exist.

Not that it was specifically that Alvin hated homework or learning or reading or anything. It was just... the homework he was stuck on, the work that took him the longest amount of time, well, he was _really_ stuck on it. He really had to fight to keep up, and while at the beginning of the transfer it was worse because he was thrown into catching up with the rest of his peers all at once, it was still a daily struggle for him to get everything done. He just couldn’t... process the information like other students could. It wasn’t how his brain was wired. And he’d never had to try this hard before, because he was in a public school district and all he had to do was pass. But now, in order to keep his scholarship and continue to attend Ouran, he had to be making average grades or higher. This required a lot of extra effort on his part. _That_ was what he hated.

Privately, Pierre wonders if he could do anything to lighten Alvin’s load. And of course, if he can improve Alvin’s social skills. He’ll have to try.

“I’ll be having a word with your teachers, but for the time being let’s begin. Ares?”

He looks over, meeting the eyes of the other boy, who had been booping Usa-Chan’s nose.

“Yes, got it.” Instantaneously, he abandons his post with Orion and disappears into a little door off back of the room. Ori himself hops down from his table and starts rearranging the furniture back into place.

When Pierre said he was going to “have a word” with Alvin’s teachers, Vin felt this gross, disgusting lump of... _something_... settle in his gut.

"Oh, god, no, don’t... I’m already singled out, don’t make it worse...” he protests, grimacing at the image, “I get the same work as everyone else, just takes longer to do cause I’m not used to it...”

The twins heard this and gained a new, mild respect for Alvin. Neither of them were able to figure out why Vin cared so much about his classwork, but his determination to grin and bear it like everyone else had to was admirable. Of course, it would be best if schooling was more adaptable, shifting depending on which student was being taught, but until that was how the entire education system was run, it was understandable for Alvin to be uncomfortable about receiving any special treatment.

At Alvin’s protests, Pierre regards him curiously, sympathy blooming in his heart for him. He’ll still be speaking to his teachers, no doubt, but he will not be saying that it’s for Vin. Perhaps the teachers won’t listen, but it’s the thought that counts, hm?

“Zacharie has had an idea to get you more acquainted with your duties here.”

That’s a lie. It was Pierre’s idea, but he has passed it off like it wasn’t. The shadow king reigns.

It is also, incidentally, a command; an order for Zacharie to come along and help him out with Alvin. He needs a good cop, or none of this will work.

A mere glance to Lincoln and Cedric conveys that Pierre wants them to help set up. They offered Pierre a nod when signaled to split off and get to work, and as they departed, Zacharie perked up and slid off the table, bouncing over to place his hands on his hips like he was fired up to get down to business.

He doesn’t call Pierre out on his lie. He said he was supporting him, and he meant it. Not to mention, he was pretty sure Alvin would want to do this even less if he knew it was Pierre who had come up with it.

"You’re going to hate this,” he announced with a grin, and Alvin, hearing this, somehow seemed so much more receptive than any other tactic they’d tried so far. Maybe unfiltered honesty was the only way to get through to him.

"Great,” Alvin mutters, sarcastically, “I love stuff I hate.”

"Oh, then you’ll love this.”

"You just said I’d hate it.”

"You will!”

"Okay,” Alvin adjusts the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, “Go on.”

"Alright,” Zacharie holds up a finger as he continues, “Have you ever heard of speed-dating?”

"Kill me.”

"That does not answer my question,” Zacharie retained the exact same chipper, light, over-exaggeratedly friendly tone, regardless of what he was saying, that goofy, determined grin stretched permanently across his face.

Pierre made the right choice in having Zacharie make this pitch, because it seemed that their president’s sense of humor was actually loosening Alvin up. After a few seconds of staring at that stupid look on Zacharie’s face, Vin’s lips tightened a bit, as if he were trying not to smile or laugh. This is why Zacharie was the face of the club. Pierre is good with data. He’s good with business. All the serious stuff, Pierre could handle. But Zacharie was good with people. He made them feel safe, understood. His reckless confidence and ability to laugh off and recover from mistakes easily made him the perfect friend - or boyfriend. Exactly what you’d want as the poster boy for your host club.

"Fine. Yes, I’ve... heard of speed-dating. Never done it though,” Alvin finally answers, before adding, “Also, kill me.”

"No!” Zacharie says, without losing any of his sunny disposition, “Anyway, what we’re gonna do today is get a feel for what your dynamic with other people is, see what we can work _with_ and what we need to work _on._ Plus, you get to talk to and flirt with a bunch of cute boys, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy. Sound good so far?”

"As a matter of fact, it sounds god-awful.”

"Outstanding,” Zacharie claps his hands together, “Now, with you in the group, it means we have an uneven number of participants, so one of the hosts can sit out and act as referee instead of playing along.”

"Can it be me?” Alvin asked, hopefully.

"No, but you had to try, didn’t you?” Zacharie says, patting Vin’s shoulder, encouragingly, before continuing, “I was thinking we bench either one of the twins or Pierre. Having both Cedric and Lincoln in the rotation seems a little redundant, but on the other hand, I was thinking that you, Pierre, are probably the most qualified one here to act as judge and referee. Well, most qualified after me, of course. Also, you’re very intimidating and I don’t think Vinnie here needs that on his first day.”

Alvin silently mouthed _Vinnie_ in disgust. He had not giving them permission to nickname him. Zacharie ignored this.

"Even I’m terrified of you,” he says, unabashedly, “So I get it if Alvin is overwhelmed at the thought of having to engage with you. Alternatively, I could sit out and be the referee, or we could have the twins go around as a pair instead of splitting them up, but I am kind of trying to get them to establish themselves as individuals a little bit lately, so that might not be a good idea. What do you think, Pierre?”

I know I already said it, but I feel like I need to repeat myself: Pierre is in love with Zacharie.

He stands stoically off to the side during their conversation, his expression so passive it’s almost bored. On the inside, however, a chorus of cherubs fly around on their fat baby wings and praise the heavens for Zacharie’s existence. He wants to plant stupid little kisses on his stupid beautiful face. He doesn’t even realize he’s distracted until he hears his name. Benched... why would he have to be benched? What’s going on?

Luckily, he catches up speedily enough to make it seem he was just his normal stoic self.

“I would prefer to sit out, personally - it’s the most effective choice for all of us.”

It’s likely that he’d send Alvin into a panic, making him flirt with him. Besides, he has work to do.

“As well as apparently the best for the collective mental states of the group, if even _you’re_ terrified of me...”

The joke is said with such a monotonous voice that it’s just... snarky beyond all description. What a dick.

“I’m terrified of a lot of things, Pierre,” Zacharie states, with a strange amount confidence for such a proclamation, basically just declaring himself a coward, “The only reason it’s notable that you frighten me is because I consider you a close companion. But you’re right. I wouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t the only one here thinking it. I’m just the only one stupid enough to say it out loud.”

Well, at least he was self-aware.

His avoidance of the word _friend_ really stuck out, at least to Alvin. _Companion_ isn’t a word you hear all that often, at least not among teenagers.

Pierre observes Zacharie as he discusses the many things he’s terrified of. Ah yes, yet another thing about him that he will never understand... he would rather be spoon-fed arsenic than have to talk about his fear of rejection. And crowds. And wasps. That would be just monstrous.

“Anyway, yes, I think that’s a good idea then. That means you’re in charge of timing the rounds, and since the other hosts will be engaged in socialization, I expect you to be taking notes on Alvin’s performance, in case any of us forget anything later.”

“I hate this already,” Alvin muttered, miserably, and Zacharie clapped him on the back, narrowly missing his bruise.

“I am a man of my word,” he says, bright as ever, “Now, speed-dating is pretty hetero-normative, and so they usually have it set up so that the ladies are sitting and the men are the ones traveling and making the rounds whenever the bell is rung. We don’t have any ladies today, so we’re going to randomize who sits and who moves. Alvin, I’ve already decided you’re sitting. I think it would be a good idea to have you travel, just so we can teach you some tips on how to take a seat in a pleasing manner -“

“...what...?”

“- but you’re clearly far too exhausted for any of that. So today, you get off easy. You get to pick a spot and stay there.”

Pierre doesn’t say a word throughout all of this. He’s already committed himself to taking notes on Alvin’s performance, something that will help him create a more expansive file for him - which is what he had wanted to work on today. The more information he has about the boy before he starts meeting the ladies, the better. Soundlessly, he moves to a table to the side, sets his laptop up, and sits down.

“Um, wait, if three of us are sitting and three are moving, that means there are still two hosts that... I don’t... get... to... fucking god dammit, I shouldn’t have pointed that out,” Alvin wanted to slam his head against the wall, “Why did it have to be numbers?! Why couldn't I have been cursed with some other stupid fucking talent, god...”

Zacharie chuckled, “Don’t worry about the two you don’t get to meet today. You can do dates with them tomorrow. They’ll be shorter then, more like a refresher course, and after that you’ll have met and had a conversation with everyone in the club. Sound good?”

“You already asked me that, and my answer is the same.”

“You are a joy to work with, Mr. Blakeley,” Zacharie sighs, dreamily, “Alright, boys, if you’ve got the tables set up, gather round, we’re gonna draw cards to figure out who sits and who moves.”

Zacharie pulls a handful of playing cards out of his back pocket and locates a red Ace of Hearts to let Alvin hold while they waited on the other four hosts to join them.

“Okay, if you get a red card, you’re sitting, and if you get a black card, you’re traveling,” Zacharie says, shuffling the deck face down before handing one out to each boy and keeping the last for himself.

Luck shone on Ares, as he finished up in the kitchen simultaneously as Zacharie finished up with Alvin. He opens the door, carrying a tray with a bunch of sweets, a few sandwiches, and some tea, and bustles over to choose a card, along with the other hosts that had migrated closer.

_**Red cards:** Alvin, Cedric, and Zacharie._

_**Black cards:** Ares, Lincoln, and Orion._

When Ares' eyes catch the black, he looks up to find Alvin’s eyes and smile subtly.

Orion’s approach is... less mellow.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!! I wanted to travel!!” After burning off some of his excitement by bouncing back and forth on his heels, he becomes a tad more aware of what Ares is carrying and tries to snag a cookie from the tray. Gently, he evades by shifting his grip on it upwards, too far for Orion to reach.

“What -“

“They’re for Alvin.”

“That’s not -“

“He’s not hosting later, you’ll have all the cookies you want then.”

“Oh, right... can I have one now, too?”

“Orion.”

It could easily be missed, but from his post, Pierre’s shaking his head. It’s hard to tell if he’s disapproving or amused.

Lincoln and Cedric compared cards, then performed a short, complex little handshake to celebrate the fact that they’d get to sit and talk at some point during the rotation. That meant they got a round to basically just slack off for a little bit.

Zacharie makes sure everyone is aware of their roles, turning a lop-sided, endeared smile on Orion, eyes twinkling with affection, before dispensing with the last bit of info the cards carried, “The card value also determines where you are in the rotation. Lowest values sit at the first table, and the highest values sit at the last. I made sure Alvin got an ace, so he’s at the first table. I have a six of diamonds, Cedric, what’s yours?”

“Red king,” he displays the card as proof.

“Alright, you’re at the last table,” he explains, “and I’m at the second. My black cards, what are your values?”

“Honesty, integrity, patience, and a four of clubs,” Lincoln declares. Ares has a black queen (aren’t all black ladies queens?) and Orion has an ace of clubs.

"Okay, that puts Orion at the first table, Lincoln at the second with me, and Ares at the last one with Cedric for the first round,” Zacharie determines, “Each round is five minutes and it’s over when Pierre rings this bell.”

He sets a silver hand bell next to Pierre’s laptop for him to grab every time the timer went off. Pierre doesn’t look up from his typing when Zacharie sets the bell aside him. He’s surely aware of its presence, but it’s not monumental enough for him to acknowledge it aside from a soft sound of thanks.

"Alright, come grab a seat,” Zacharie invites, patting Alvin on the back and then leading the twins over to the tables to indicate which was which.

Meanwhile, Vin hefted his backpack on his shoulder and stepped over towards Ares a little, asking, awkwardly, “Did you say you made those for me...?”

Ares encounters an interesting challenge when he tries to show Alvin the tray of goodies without allowing Orion to swipe any.

“I did! I thought you might like some sort of incentive to being here... that, and we’re keeping you later than you usually stay. It feels only fair to give you a snack. You can take them now if you want, have less of a rush to finish, but I think you can see that Orion will get handsy... so do so at your own risk.” He shifts his grip a bit, opening the possibility for Alvin to actually take it. Orion watches with dingo’s eyes like the tray is a plump, halfwitted baby he can snap up into his maw.

Alvin stared, eyebrows low and heavy, at the plate. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the thought, it was just...

...he was so goddamn hungry. He was starving. And yet, he couldn’t accept a gift. Not from a stranger. Not here. He tried to ignore how empty his stomach felt as he cleared his throat and said, “Uh, thanks, buddy, but you can just give them to Orion... he clearly wants them, and I owe him from yesterday, anyway...”

Huh. He must have been _somewhat_ lucid yesterday to have remembered that Ori brought him a snack.

Not that he’d eaten it. He’d carried it all the way home, and when he got there, the idea of actually consuming it made him want to vomit, so he gave it to his mother and just got to work serving dinner, which he wasn’t able to eat much of either. It was just now occurring to him that he hadn’t had a full meal since yesterday at lunch.

It’s fine. He wasn’t _that_ hungry. I mean, he was, he was very, very hungry, but it was to the point where he wasn’t really hungry at all anymore. You know, when you get hunger pains bad enough to make you nauseous. Hard to get yourself to swallow anything when you feel like it will come right back up the next time you stand a little too fast.

...but...

“...I mean, I might have a little if there’s any left over after he’s had some, but... yea,” he mumbled, still staring at the sweets.

Ares has a hunch at what Alvin is playing at. A lot of people, especially his guests, tend to refuse food at first - too nervous to take something he worked on whilst not knowing him well. He wishes he could profess just how deeply he feels against this. Cooking is fun for him, and how he relieves stress, so he’s always surrounded in sweets - if people don’t help him eat them, he’ll either waste stuff or gain far, far too much weight eating it all. Besides... it’s likely Alvin is hungry. Most of the guests and hosts usually are after a long day of school.

He knows Orion's certainly is... he likely had a rough day, to be wanting his food this much.

"Orion," he warns, as he reluctantly transitions the tray into his arms, "Share. Or else."

"'Kay." Orion beams back, his eyes on a slice of cake in front of him. "Will do."

"I mean it."

Ares looks up at Alvin again, shaking his head, and then wishes them luck and moves to his seat.

“You ready?” Ori isn’t as gluttonous as he seems - he’s at least lucid enough to pay attention to Vinnie with the tray in his hands. The beam settles into a delightful little smile. He’s trying to figure out what to make of him.

Alvin’s mouth is a straight line as he goes to pull the chair out from the table, and for a second, the legs make an unfriendly squeaking sound on the marble.

"Ah...” he mutters under his breath, stopping for a second, “...that’s what he meant by learning how to take a seat...”

He was internally torn between the urge to act out as much as possible and the urge to just do the bare minimum and get through this. But it occurred to him that if he did in fact act out, the powers that be might give up on him. They almost definitely won’t forgive his debt, but maybe they could find a more... appropriate place for him to work it off. Like maybe he could just clean stuff up for them. Or run errands. He didn’t want to flirt with girls. He’d rather mop floors.

And besides. Pierre wanted a bad boy, right?

Well, that’s what he’d get.

Alvin lifted his chin a bit and sucked in a breath, pulling the chair out during the inhale, letting it scream away against the floor.

Zacharie and the twins all immediately winced, and Cedric looked a little miffed that Alvin wasn’t taking this seriously, but Lincoln and Zacharie just seemed intrigued by this bold move. Pierre has always had sensitive ears. While that’s useful for catching important dashes of conversation, it is a scourge on his wellbeing when things are loud and annoying. Therefore, he tenses up when Alvin rips the chair along the floor, biting his lip as an alternative to flinching.

Vin swung his backpack into his lap as he fell into the chair, leaning his chin in his palm. Already displaying poor manners - everyone knows you’re supposed to keep your elbows off the table.

"No,” Alvin replies to Ori, “but let’s just rip this band-aid off fast. I really don’t want to be here very long.”

Orion‘s encouraging smile slips for a second, into a disappointed frown. It takes him a breath to regain it, and it’s a lil weak... Vinnie probably thinks he’s succeeding.

Well, until Orion murmurs, “Hm... I don’t know... I’m not the type to keep things quick... drawing things out is just more fun. It makes the conclusion that much more... satisfying, y’know?”

_Oh._

Alvin didn’t react to that comment at all, aside from the way his eyes glanced briefly up and down Orion's face. There was no expression there, so it was impossible to figure out what he’d been looking for.

Zacharie shared a glance with Lincoln, before turning towards Pierre to say, “Okay, five minutes on the clock... Pierre, count us off, will you, handsome?”

Pretending he hadn’t heard that, Pierre makes a note of Alvin’s unpleasant beginning, and heeds Zacharie with a, “Five... four... three... two... one. Begin.”

He clicks on the timer.

Alvin felt his gut tighten as the numbers dwindled down, anxiety building, and then, their make-believe date began.

He had no intention of doing well on this. He’d made up his mind; he’d annoy them into making a different choice. It was his last resort.

“So,” he starts, voice a lazy drawl, and he leans back in his chair, staring coldly at Orion, “You’re like, what, ten years old? What are you doing in a club like this?”

He knew Orion wasn’t ten. He wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate a person’s size or to equate mannerisms with age. In fact, it was very clear that he knew this, which made the question sound less like a conversation-starter and more like an insult, like he was trying to get under Ori’s skin.

Zacharie was trying to focus on his conversation with Lincoln, but he overheard Alvin’s first question, and couldn’t help but cast a disapproving glance in his direction. Vin paid this no mind.

Alvin probably expected a lot of things to come out of that statement. Orion being hurt or angry, the group scolding him and pushing him harder... loads of bad shit. Orion’s reaction, however, divulges those expectations. He has dealt with shitty comments like these before. He has dealt with shitty people, intentionally trying to make him feel bad for his height, weight, and femininity before.

And to that, he says, _fuck them._

“Close, but I’m actually nine; I know I look old for my age. I’m here because we suspect there’s a lot of pedos at this school... most of the students here are going to take over their family businesses, so we’re hired to catch who’s like that and who’s not, so, y’know, there aren’t perverts running important, wealthy companies. Ideally, we'll catch them before they can be anything important at all.”

The thing is. It’s such a well-prepared statement, and Orion’s tone is so bright and understanding, that it’s far, far more painful than any kind of insult. Kill ‘em with kindness, folks.

In his spot in the corner, Pierre feels his heart swell with pride for his younger brother, and something like a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. But only for a second. You could miss it if you blinked, really.

Alvin’s eyebrows crept upwards on his head.

An interesting thing to note: those brows weren’t real.

Orion, at this angle and proximity, would have by now noticed that almost all of Alvin’s eyebrows had been shaved off, aside from a triangle of dark hair right by the bridge of his nose, which had been attacked violently with a violet eyeliner pencil to make them match his hair. The rest of his brows were entirely drawn-on, sharp and crisp, a blue mirroring the blue in his fringe shaping the outer corner blending into the purple that connected to his actual eyebrows. From a normal distance, it looked like he bleached his brows and dyed them to suit his hair, but now it was clear that that was not the case. In fact, the more Orion looked, the more Alvin’s skill and prowess with makeup was revealed - he’d been wearing concealer, foundation, and a bit of contouring this whole time, but it was blended so well that it was impossible to distinguish it from his natural skin.

This morning, after falling asleep with his makeup on, he’d washed his face and came to school without any eyebrows, but slipped into the bathroom in the hospital wing - a single stall bathroom - to fix his face for the day. He’d done it in fifteen minutes flat and still had time to make it to class before the bell rang.

Not that Orion would know any of _those_ specifics, but... it was clear he knew what he was doing. He must have done it a thousand times.

An idea pops into Orion’s mind: if he turns out to not actually be the raging dick he appears to be right now, he should ask him to do his makeup. Specifically his brows. Orion’s brows have been shaved into lil ovals, and they’ve been like that so long that he’s curious to see what Alvin would do with them. But only if he’s not a dick. He doesn’t have makeup and movie night sleepovers with dicks. They don’t deserve all that. Unfortunately for Orion's plans, Vin was determined to shatter any hope that he wasn't a dick. Alvin _is_ a dick. He _is_. Orion was going to hate him. Orion was going to think that he was worthless. Orion was going to be angry at him all the time. He was going to be sick of Alvin, he was going to be fed up. He had to be. Alvin _had_ to be a dick, and Orion _had_ to hate him. Everyone here did. I mean, they’d do it anyway eventually, so Alvin decided to spare himself the later torment and speed shit up. He was good at making people hate him. 

He even made himself hate him.

“You’re doing important work,” Vin murmurs, slowly, picking his words carefully, trying to figure out how best to crack this guy’s focus, how to make him break character, “Looking for pedophiles, huh? Found any? Like maybe your ginger friend over there? He seems a little obsessed with you.”

Tactic one, attacking Orion directly, had failed. Time for tactic two: attacking his friends.

Have I mentioned that Alvin isn’t a great guy? He's not a great guy.

Ori glances over to the last table. Ares' head is buried and his eyes are focused on Cedric’s hand, which he’s holding and tracing the lines of. He does this sometimes - pretends to read palms, although he has no idea how to, as a flirt. It involves him holding his guest’s hand and speaking softly, so it usually works well despite his lack of expertise.

“Your lines tell me... wow, you have really soft hands. The softest I’ve ever - I’m getting distracted, aren’t I?”

Ori’s eyes crinkle with appreciation. The timbre in his voice never fails to tug at his heartstrings.

“Nah, he’s too good for that. He just keeps me fed and makes sure no one steps on me... symbiotic relationship type stuff.”

Orion isn’t someone who has an expansive vocabulary. He doesn’t care too much about being the smartest or anything like that. Just as long as he passes. So he’s never really cared about big words. Symbiotic relationships, however, are something he’s aware of - because he thought it was really cute to find out that crocodiles and birds can be friends when Pierre was watching a documentary about them on Animal Planet. He doesn’t forget a thing like that.

“Speaking of that... you should eat.”

He munches on one of the cookies for emphasis, gesturing with his other hand towards the tray.

He hasn’t taken the bait.

Startled by the reminder of the cookies, Alvin momentarily forgot that he was currently Being a Dick™️, and he said, “I already told you I wouldn’t have any ‘til you were done.”

He then remembered his role, and he flicked a glance towards Orion, adding, “I mean, you clearly need it more than I do.”

He leans an elbow on the armrest of his chair and drops his chin into it to stare at Orion. You were supposed to talk on a date, right? You were supposed to seem interested in what the other person had to say? You were supposed to ask them about themselves? Alvin stayed silent. Tactic number three: don’t say anything at all. Don’t engage. Sometimes, the most painful attack was being ignored.

What the fuck does that mean? _You clearly need it more than I do?_ What?

It’s like that battle message from Pokémon: It hurt itself in its confusion! Alvin’s comment doesn’t have the affect he wanted, as Orion has no clue what he is trying to say. Was that meant to be shitty? Or was it just an observation?

He decides to just shrug it off, and offer the cookie again, “I know I don’t seem like it, but I can share, you know.”

It was meant to be another dig at Orion’s height, not that Alvin expected it to have any affect at all. He just had to continue to be a dick, even if it wasn’t hurting Ori. Because that’s who Alvin was. He was a dick. He was always a dick, unconditionally. It was not contingent on the person he was being a dick to recognizing or acknowledging that he was a dick.

Pierre is... upset. He doesn’t like seeing Alvin act out so much. He doesn’t like having to note down his insults to his brother. He doesn’t like having to hear them. Stubbornly, he tells himself that he’s doing the right thing. Orion can handle himself, he’s already seen it.

Vin said nothing to Ori’s reply. He just stared at him, cold and calculating, trying to separate himself from the situation with every passing silent second.

Finally, with only about two minutes left to go in the round, he says, “Six.”

Six? Six what?

...is he rating Orion Thanatos, the sweet, precious, lovely-eyed first year, adored by all the girls in school like the living personification of that stuffed bunny he carried with him everywhere, the young man who had come to rescue Alvin himself from his despair with an offering of a cookie, a _six_ out of ten?

Harsh.

Zacharie was now actively trying to ignore Alvin, because if he paid just a little too much attention, he might abandon his date and hit him. In fact, he might do that anyway.

When Orion realized that Alvin was rating him, his smile broadened exponentially. A six is good, especially from someone like Vin - especially from a stranger! It was above average! Really, it was -

“If you would just act your age, you could be an eight.”

The optimism in Ori's gaze vanishes at that added comment, and the smile is slowly tugged downwards. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore that one. That one hurt. It called up so many bitter memories of people telling him to grow up... to act more like his siblings... so many little comments where they think he couldn’t hear - _I suppose there’s a dud in every family..._

Cedric and Zacharie both stopped what they were doing. For Zacharie, Alvin had taken it a step too far. It didn’t matter if Orion was hurt by this, Alvin’s douche-ry was out of hand. Zacharie started to rise from his chair, but then Lincoln’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, giving him a silent, difficult-to-read expression.

“I’ll handle it when I get over there,” he murmurs, “sit back down. This round is nearly over.”

Zacharie stares for a second, before sinking gradually back into the chair... but he was still fuming.

Orion gathers Usa-Chan in his arms, tight, and fights back the prickling behind his eyes. It always starts up so quickly...

_Crybaby..._

...no. That’s wrong.

“You don’t have to act like that, you know. I’m not going to start being mean like you want.”

He offers the cookie yet again.

“Take it.”

Alvin’s expression didn’t waver, even though the glistening of Orion’s eyes jabbed him somewhere in his midsection with a cattle prod of guilt and self-loathing. This is what he wanted. What he needed. He deserved it. And it might free him from this. He didn’t ask to be here, he didn’t ask to be played like a puppet. If they didn’t want him to be a dick, they shouldn’t have dragged him out of his isolation. Just as Alvin was bringing Ori’s hate upon himself - or so he hoped - the club had brought Alvin’s hate upon _their_ selves by forcing him to take part.

“I’m not acting,” Alvin says, voice steady and quiet, “and I’m not trying to get you to be mean. _I_ just _am_ mean. If you don’t like it, take it up with your big brother. He’s the reason I’m here. And he told me he wanted a bad boy, so it’s really all on him.”

“That’s enough,” Zacharie snaps, despite Lincoln’s protesting, jumping up out of his seat, and Alvin turned a cold, harsh glare on the club leader, just as Pierre’s timer went off to signal the end of the round.

“Zacharie,” Lincoln begged, also standing, as it was time to move, “they’ll both be okay. You can’t let him get under your skin.”

“This is my family,” Zacharie insisted, “I’m not going to just let him talk about them like that.”

“Neither will I,” Lincoln says, quieter, “but you need to sit down now.”

Slowly, Zacharie sat back down, and Lincoln gathered up his things to move while Zacharie casts a look towards Pierre. His gaze read _we’re in this together._ He didn’t want Alvin’s comments to convince Pierre to bear all this on himself again. They were a team. Zacharie said so - they were a _team._ They’d sink or swim together.

Hah. Pierre clicks the timer off, feeling a numbness take hold as he watches Zacharie stand. He’s _already_ bearing this all on himself. Orion’s upset - that’s _his_ fault. Even if this turns out for the best and helps Alvin, he is still hurting people with the time taken to get there. He’s hurting his family. When Ž catches his eye, he turns them downwards, focusing only on getting his final notes down.

“This round is over.”

While he’s doing that and people are switching, Orion recovers himself enough to say something to Alvin, softly.

_“I don’t believe my big brother makes mistakes.”_

Alvin gave Orion a blank stare that held a dark, challenging intensity.

 _We’ll just have to wait and see about that, I guess,_ he thought.

Ori moves along to Cedric’s station at the end and leaves without the tray in tow. A last ditch attempt to get Alvin to eat.

Pierre avoiding Zacharie’s gaze confirmed his worries, and he squirms a little, anxious to go and comfort him, anxious to remind him of his support and trust. But he couldn’t now. They just needed to get through this. Zacharie would slip Pierre a note after Alvin left and before the guests arrived during business hours, and ask Pierre to hang back after they closed for the day to get a chance to speak to him alone.

Lincoln stopped Orion on his way towards Cedric to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and he whispered, leaning down towards his ear, “You did great.”

Linc had always been fond of Orion. Not as much as Ares, but it was clear that he cared about him. He may seem to be the stable one, but Alvin was not going to get away with attacking Orion like that. Orion is a fan of Lincoln, too. I mean - he’s a fan of everyone in this group, but Linc has this quality about him... he makes him feel safe. Like now. After awarding him an infinitesimal smile, he settles into his chair across from Cedric and starts by asking him his favorite color. He must really be nervous... he already knows it’s navy, after all. Same with how Pierre’s is green, Zacharie’s is red, Lincoln’s is yellow or burnt orange, and Ares’ is light brown. Questions related to color are one of his go-to conversation starters. It makes talking to people easy because, well, talking about colors is easy. It’s a real shame most people don’t ask elementary-type questions like that. This must be a safe headspace for him.

Lincoln, meanwhile, takes his seat across from Alvin, and the two of them locked eyes. Linc was startlingly cool and calm, but it was frightening in a different way than how Pierre’s levelheadedness was. Pierre’s was terrifying in its stubbornness, how calculated and measured it was. It attacked you. Strangled you. But that was his normal. That was how Pierre always tried to be - hovering above everyone, detached from their realities. Lincoln’s, on the other hand, was intimidating in that it was unusual. Alvin didn’t know him very well, but from what he’d seen, Linc liked to laugh and smile. He was definitely the more academically oriented twin, but that didn’t mean he was reserved or introverted. He was very outgoing, and friendlier than his brother, despite being the quieter one.

So when Lincoln grew cold like this, it was new. It was eerie. And yet, because it was in response to his actual feelings (unlike Pierre, once again) it was so, so natural.

And that was so, _so_ creepy.

Zacharie inhaled deeply, and then slowly breathed out, trying to control his emotions instead of letting them control him.

“Alright, Pierre. Count us off.”

When the round began, Alvin and Lincoln did not start talking, unlike how the other two pairs did. They just stared at one another, testing each others’ composure.

It was a little while before one of them spoke.

“You know, if it weren’t for-“ Alvin starts, deciding to head straight for the kill, but Lincoln raised a hand and Vin stopped, and then immediately questioned _why_ he’d stopped. It wasn’t like him to unquestionably obey like that.

“There’s absolutely nothing attractive about being a piece of shit,” Linc says, flatly.

Alvin was a little surprised for a second, before an expression of wicked pride came over his face. He’d already won with Lincoln. The man already hated him. Already thought he wasn’t "host material."

He opened his mouth to brag, saying, “Well, I’m c-“

But Lincoln stopped him again.

"I wasn’t finished,” he says, pausing to make sure he had Alvin’s full attention before he continued, “There is absolutely nothing attractive about being a piece of shit. But I know you are not one, and that there must be more to you, because despite all the garbage that comes out of your mouth-“

He reaches across the table and grabs Alvin’s tie, winding it around his hand and yanking him forwards to whisper something in his ear.

It was too quiet for anyone else to hear, but whatever Lincoln said, Alvin looked like he’d been shot through the neck.

Slowly, Lincoln leaned away again, and he continued to talk in a low voice, but now the others could hear him, too.

"You must be a true narcissist to think you have the power to get a group of gentleman who have made a career out of sharing love and acceptance to hate you. Get over yourself. It’s not going to work.”

He lets go of Alvin’s tie.

Alvin stares at Lincoln with a tight jaw, eyes burning with anger, but he doesn’t say anything. Lincoln leans back in his chair, an easy smile appearing on his face as if nothing had happened. Zacharie had gone quiet in order to listen in, and his face was smug and proud, like his kid had just won the talent show. Cedric, meanwhile, wolf whistled from his table to cheer his brother on, and Alvin glanced in his direction, startled, and Cedric responded by winking and blowing him a kiss.

There is a variance in reaction to Lincoln’s bad-ass-motherfucker move. Ori blatantly ignores it and keeps talking - acting like Alvin and his table do not exist. Ares blinks in surprise, pulling his attention away from Zacharie to observe. Pierre remains absolutely silent aside from the clicking of the pads of his fingers against his keyboard. He’s aware, of course, of how justified Lincoln is in acting and how true his words are, but he refuses to take part.

Well... aside from looking up eventually and saying, “It’s far too quiet in here - we cannot be successful if so many hosts don’t do their jobs.”

Embarrassed, Ares begins to speak again.

Alvin crossed his arms over his chest and glared across the table at his opponent. Lincoln may have appeared as a mere lackey when they first met, but he was revealing himself to be a lot smarter and stronger than that. It could be assumed that Cedric was hiding similar secret strengths. 

Lincoln turned a sunny smile on Vin.

"So, you transferred here? What was your other school like?” He asks, making light conversation.

Alvin didn’t reply.

He was trying the silent treatment again. Lincoln was unfazed.

"Did you have a partner there?”

No response.

"It must be hard, leaving your childhood home behind. Your friends. Memories.”

Alvin’s frown deepened a bit.

"What is it...?” Lincoln asks, gently, noting this change in Alvin’s expression.

"Oh... did you not have any friends there, either?”

The patronizing tone was cutting. Pointed. Alvin felt his chest squeeze. But he still said nothing. There was silence for a second, and when Lincoln spoke again, he surprised Alvin with a concerned, tender voice.

"That must be even harder,” he says, softly, “to not be leaving anything behind at all.”

Alvin didn’t like this. He didn’t like how he couldn’t figure any of these people out.

 _"It is a great misfortune to be alone, my friends;”_ Lincoln recites, _“and it must be believed that solitude can quickly destroy reason.”_

Alvin’s eyebrows narrowed a bit, and he finally spoke.

"Funny,” he growls, “I feel like the only one here with any sense at all. I’m certainly the only one who sees _me_ clearly.”

"I don’t think that’s true,” Lincoln disagrees, “and I have a feeling that you’ll feel differently the longer you’re here.”

Alvin didn’t respond again. Lincoln changed topics. He pressed gently for details about Alvin’s family and past, trying to get him to open up, but there was something infinitely patient about his demeanor throughout the remainder of the round. He never seemed thrown or made uncomfortable by Alvin’s silence. And when the timer went off, Lincoln smiled like the sun itself, thanked Alvin for his time, wished him good luck, and went to sit with his brother.

Meanwhile, Alvin seemed to have been subdued. It was like he’d met his match with Lincoln, and it had stunned him into wordlessness.

Internally, he was furious over Lincoln’s peacefulness. Lincoln had shown that he had the potential for blood and thunder, but he’d held back, because he knew Alvin was looking for them to throw in the towel. Lincoln was just too smart. Like all the kids at this goddamn school, he was way smarter than Alvin. Smarter, kinder, better. But even though Alvin did not try and insult Lincoln again, Lincoln’s patience made it clearer than ever that Alvin did not belong here.

Ares is similar to Lincoln - they’re both sweet, bigger guys with the ability to demonstrate power and authority if the moment called for it. However, it’s not necessary anymore, so Ares doesn’t show this ability off the way Linc just did. He situates himself into the seat, careful as to not squeak the chair or plop down too hard.

He notices that Alvin hadn’t eaten. Hell, even Orion had barely touched the tray. He doesn’t mention it - the food was optional, and he doesn’t feel like Alvin should be pressured into it.

“Hello,” Ares greets, as if none of the past events had transpired, “I’m joining you now. Is there anyway I might be able to cheer you up...? Anything I can do...?”

He’s nervous. While he wants to be good to this baby gay, he’s wary after how shitty he was to Orion... he’ll give him a second chance for now - offer him courtesy. Feel out the playing field.

Alvin gave Ares a once-over.

One word would pop into Ares’ head - one word that described Vin’s expression perfectly.

_Conspiring._

He was seeking out weaknesses. He couldn’t let someone get the upper hand again.

The final round of the afternoon began.

Alvin thought about the question, then says, slowly, “If you really want to help, you’ll just sit down and say nothing for the next five minutes.”

Ares frowns. It’s less like Pierre’s condescending, thoughtful frown, or Orion’s deeply hurt one, and more like... a disappointed parent, wondering what to do better to help their child. It’s only slight, and not an ounce of judgement is composing it.

"At this rate, I think we’ll have to keep him around during guest hours and then do these dates again afterwards, but with a more hands-on approach to guidance. He’s simply not performing well enough for us to allow him to go home early. He’ll need a lot more practice,” Zacharie suddenly says, as if having a conversation with Orion at the table next to Alvin’s, his voice loud and robotic, and then, when Alvin turns a truly horrified expression on Zacharie, their leader goes, at a normal volume, “Oh, sorry, I have a condition that makes me yell sometimes. It acts up when people are being immature and wasting others’ time. Please, continue.”

God, what a threat. Lincoln had taken Alvin by surprise, but Zacharie had lit a fire under him.

Zacharie’s threat causes Ares' frown to deepen... he would not have done the same, but they can’t take it back now.

Vin was so afraid. Absolutely everything he tried ended up only making everything else worse. He felt trapped. He swallowed, shifting in his seat and staring at the tabletop, his cheeks burning. It was getting a little hard to breathe.

"...do whatever you want. That seems to be what everyone else is this goddamn purgatory shit hole are doing at all times. I’ll get stuck here to endure it regardless of how I react, so I don’t even fucking care anymore...” he hissed to Ares under his breath.

“We’re not trying to hurt you, you know,” Ares murmurs, grabbing onto the teapot in the middle of the table and pouring it into a tiny, ornate teacup in the set next to it. He lifts that to his lips - the utter size of his hands around the cup is remarkable. He could crush it in an instant.

“Pierre, dear, would you like some?”

Pierre tilts his head, unable to feign disinterest. Tea...

“Yes, please. Will you pour me some?”

Ares nods, getting to it. 

“I know your impression of us hasn’t been the best, but we really are for comfort, here. Please, give us a chance?“

Pierre moves over to take his tea. His eyes linger on him for a moment.

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten my command to you from yesterday -“ His voice adopts a fierceness to it, an anger that, if left unchecked, could cause it to grow unsteady, “Watch. Your tongue. If you continue to act like an insolent -“

 _“Pierre,”_ Ares corrects, gently, “I got it, okay?”

Pierre purses his lips, his eyes flashing to Ares. Surprisingly enough, he permits that and returns to his seat.

Alvin doesn’t _ignore_ Ares’ comment, but he does _wait_ to respond to it, prioritizing Pierre’s presence first. When the Shadow King began his scolding, Alvin drew into himself and shot a venomous glare up at Pierre, about to snap and mouth off again, but Ares stepping in interrupted his train of thought, and he refocused on him. His face was scrunched up in frustrated thought. Internally, he was so overwhelmed and exhausted that he wanted to cry, but there was no way he was going to let himself do that. That would be letting them win.

He waits for Pierre to leave, and then, a moment later, he says, “Either you guys are really fucking bad at your jobs, or I don’t belong here, like I’ve been saying for the past two days, because I’m clearly _not_ comfortable.”

He was silent for a second longer, before he grumbled, under his breath, “I don’t know what you people want from me. I don’t know what I did to...”

He trails off, then amends, “...just because you claim you don’t _want_ to hurt me doesn’t mean you’re _not_ hurting me. But it doesn’t matter. None of you actually care. Just as long as your monkey dances, you don’t give a shit about how high the voltage is on the cattle prod...”

Ares frowns for a long time after that. He doesn’t like not knowing whether he’s doing the right thing or not. He has to trust Pierre’s judgement, but... is forcing Alvin to stay really going to help him? He’s just going to resent them... oh, dear...

“You say that, just after you pushed a boy treating you well to tears simply because you could. I think that accidental hurt isn’t as bad a crime as it is to do it on purpose. There’s a law preventing against suing people trying to help, but first degree murder will put you in prison anyway you look at it... sorry, that was a bad analogy... please don’t think I think of you like that, I was honestly thinking more about -“

He stops. It seemed as if there was no way to salvage this now.

This is... part of why he doesn’t like to speak too much around the guests. Orion carries himself much better in conversation, and people like him much better when he’s a quiet but caring observer than someone blundering through his words. Ares wasn’t always as sure of himself, after all.

It was sometimes very difficult being a deeply depressed individual with a lot of stubborn pride. Half of your personality was dragging you into the mud, insisting you were worthless and everything bad that ever was was your fault, and the other half screamed that you were never wrong and never could be, that you were better than everyone else and you had no reason to listen to them. It also made it difficult to accept love. On the rare occasion those two halves agreed, it was whenever someone tried to be kind to you. Then your “I’m worthless” side and your “everyone else’s opinions are factually incorrect” side shook hands and said, _so, it must be true then. We really_ are _worthless._

And at that point, you feel compelled to drive it home. To make everyone see your perspective - to make them accept how useless you truly are.

That’s where Alvin was at right now. One half told him he sucked for bullying Orion. That he deserved all the pain he put himself through. The other half said he was justified; he never claimed to be friendly and he tried to tell these people he shouldn’t be here and they forced him to stay, anyway. He owed them no kindness. And both decided he hated himself regardless of which statement was true.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the part of him that said, _no, take the hit, feel the bruises,_ kept holding the words back. He wasn’t looking for pity. He hadn’t earned pity.

Slowly, he closed his mouth again.

Ares might think he’d won. And... maybe he did.

But it was more than a loss for Alvin. It was an active choice to drop his defenses - and not in the _I’m going to let my guard down and make some friends by trusting these people_ sort of way. In the _I don’t have the right to stand up for myself_ sort of way. In the _fighting back now would be self-care, and you’re not worth that_ sort of way.

Ares has no idea what wars are being waged behind Alvin’s pretty face, but he does suspect that he’s had quite enough of being scolded. The point has been driven home for now. Sipping on his tea, he vocalizes, “I, uh, I think that we should get to know one another a little better... I hardly know anything about you. I’m Ares, you probably know that... I’m a second year... My family owns a few Michelin star restaurants around the area, and I make the recipes for all of the food here in the host club. I like to cook a lot, but I‘m debating going into medicine. Um... I live with my parents and my five siblings... oh, and I have a dog. His name’s Robbie and he’s a clingy sweetheart. Uh - Orion usually asks people their favorite color when he’s meeting someone new, so... mine’s brown. Light brown, specifically - kind of like a teddy bear... I get it if you don’t want to talk much, that’s kind of why I’m rambling on right now, but can you answer that for me? I at least want to learn one thing about you that isn’t that you don’t want to be here or you have a lot of homework... so... what’s your favorite color?”

Alvin didn’t think Ares needed to know anything aside from his disdain for being here and his lack of free time due to his workload, and as a result, it took him a long time to answer, and when he did, he didn’t even do it audibly. He just lifted a hand and pointed at his hair in a very _you dipshit_ kind of manner. After a moment he mutters, “No one lifts from black light enough to get a color this pure and vibrant if they don’t really like the color. It’s two A.M. and I’m pacing in and out of the bathroom with my hair on fire waiting to dye - and that’s d- _y_ -e, dye - and I’m not about to go through all that shit for a color I don’t give a fuck about...”

Huh. Even when he was being conversational, he was still being an asshole. He’s always being an asshole.

He dropped his hand and tucked it away, arms crossed over his chest once more as he affixed his tired glare to something out of the left corner of his eyes.

To everyone's surprise, Alvin quietly started to talk again, saying, “...what about yours...? That ginger real...?”

It was hard to tell if this was supposed to be some kind of flirt. In the context of speed-dating, it made sense. But Alvin’s tone didn’t _sound_ flirtatious.

Ares is both startled and delighted that Alvin spoke that much... even if he was a dickhead for most of it. He decides to ignore that bit and dignifies the non-rude words that came out of his mouth with a response.

“Yeah, it is - my entire family’s ginger, actually,” smiling to himself, he adds, “Even Robbie. I think if I were to dye it though, I’d probably dye it like a dark forest green. That’s my second favorite color, and it’s more interesting than brown - I think it would also give me some points with the boss, he really loves green.”

Before Alvin could reply to any of that, Zacharie piped up from the table beside them, saying, “I don’t know that I’d say I _love_ green, I mean, it’s a lovely color and all, but I’m more of a red-“ before he froze.

“Wait,” he says, “you... weren’t talking about me, were you?”

Hey Zacharie, it’s your lucky day: Ares has turned bright red thanks to the slip up. If there was any doubt related to his assurance that he’s a natural ginger, this would probably sway it: redheads have an insane talent for turning their complexion even more scarlet than their hair.

Alvin audibly choked on a short, hysterical laugh.

“Don’t you dare be offended, Zacharie,” Cedric says, leaning back in his chair, “everyone knows Pierre’s really the one in charge.”

“He definitely informs most of your decisions,” Lincoln says, his tone a little gentler but nonetheless mirthful.

"Well, that’s ironic,” Alvin muttered, drawing Zacharie’s attention.

"What are you talking about?” Zacharie asks, obliviously.

Alvin looks up a little, then indicates Pierre at his computer, “I mean that... well, that he’s... and... you’re... and you two are... you know, it’s ironic.”

Zacharie and the twins are all staring at him now.

Zacharie narrows his brows on Vin, “Uh... how are your Japanese vocabulary lessons going, Alvin? Not well, I assume.”

Alvin just stares, his mouth a straight line, and then looks away. That tease struck a little too close to home for him.

"Never mind,” he mutters, ceding, and Zacharie, confused, goes back to his date.

Pierre is utterly silent through all of this. By how engrossed he seems to be in his writing, it’s debatable about whether he’d even heard at all... if not for the fact that he’s specifically supposed to listening, that he never, ever _doesn’t_ eavesdrop when given the chance, and - his ear. A lock of silver hair is tucked behind it, allowing for it to be visible as it flushes. Zacharie had not understood what Alvin was getting at, but... he did.

Alvin thinks that he’s his submissive. Or something along those lines.

God, where did he get that from...? Whilst Pierre dreams (literally) of that very scenario, he knows that it is not obvious. There is no way that this boy should be able to pick that up on their second ever meeting.

He has to do a better job at hiding it...

Ares, on the other hand, does _not_ get what Alvin is trying to say, although he does believe Ž was far too rude in his reply to it.

“Hey now,” He says, “Your Japanese is fantastic, especially for - how long have you been learning it, exactly? I heard you come from America, so I don’t think very long... they don’t have Japanese classes in school there, right?”

Alvin’s attention was narrowed in on Ares’ reassurances, but out of the corner of his eye, he’d spotted the rosy hue rising to the tips of Pierre’s ears and had filed the data away for safekeeping.

"Uh... in... most schools, no, I don’t think so...” he says, massaging the back of his neck, “I started learning Japanese... uh... three years ago, I think... at the time, it was because I planned to visit Harajuku after graduating, I didn’t know we’d be moving here... came in handy, I guess, made the transition easier...”

Harajuku? As a graduation trip? Pretty specific place to pick. It’s not exactly a... vacation location. Sure, it drew tourists, but usually only for a day or two, for souvenir shopping. To plan your entire trip around it - and a trip as special as a grad trip - was... unusual.

“Three years?! You’ve only been learning for three years and you’re _here?_ Blending in? I’ve been learning Korean for four and I still don’t know what the word for _find_ is... find is a pretty important verb, too. I’ve asked what it is so many times but I always forget...”

“It’s _chajgi."_

“Oh, yeah. Thank you, Pierre - wait, you know Korean?”

“I know enough.” 

Pierre has google translate up on his computer, but Ares doesn’t need to know that.

“Right. Well, _chajgi._ Thank you.”

That settled in his mind, Ares can refocus on his conversation. 

“You must really be into fashion. I envy you - I wish I cared, sometimes, but I really don’t. If we didn’t have a fancy uniform, I’d look like a forty year old dad all the time. It would be... bad for my reputation.”

Alvin appeared a little overwhelmed by the positive feedback he received in the form of Ares’ shock, and he drew into himself a bit, cheeks burning. He didn’t think he was blending in. Here, at this school, he did _want_ to blend in - back home, he loved sticking out, but here, that was dangerous. But he didn’t think he was succeeding in melting into the background, like he wanted so desperately to do. People didn’t ask background scenery questions about its mental state or sexuality or family dynamics or dreams or favorite color. They didn’t expect background scenery to answer. But Alvin was simply not the _background scenery_ type - even if he wished he was.

This manifested itself when Ares mentioned fashion.

Alvin tried not to say anything - he really did, but he couldn’t help it. Harajuku street fashion... one of his Special Interests. How was he supposed to hold back?

He picked along his words like someone easing their way down a hill, before tripping, collapsing, and tumbling down the ravine, picking up speed to crash into the creek below.

"Uh... I-I mean, it’s not just... fashion, I’m an artist, so... the colors of Harajuku streetwear are sort of... my thing... plus the messages... I mean, not all types of fashion are, like, an art form, meant to symbolize some kind of moral or movement, but there are certain types of Harajuku and Japanese street fashion that represent important things, like mental health stigmas and stuff, and those elements cross over into a lot of different sub genres, so like, Fairy Kei and Decora Kei are different types of streetwear, but both can have elements of Yami Kawaii, which is an artistic movement that combines healthcare imagery like bandaids, surgical masks, and syringes with cutesy imagery, like anime characters and stuff, to symbolize how depression and suicide are stigmatized topics here in Japan.”

He stops talking sort of abruptly, feeling his cheeks warm to burning. He hugs his arms tight around his chest, seeming to shrink, and rocks in his seat a little, almost imperceptibly, muttering, avoiding eye contact, “A-anyway, I just... think it’s... interesting, I guess...”

Zacharie had paused his conversations multiple times to listen into Alvin’s, but this time, he’d trailed off and done a slow turn, eyes wide with shock.

The twins were staring, too, but both seemed more pleased by this than alarmed.

"So you _do_ care about something,” Zacharie posits, as if this was some big revelation.

Alvin doesn’t respond, clearly mortified by how carried away he’d gotten.

Pride like a thousand suns shines in Pierre’s heart. He knew he wasn’t making a mistake with Alvin- he knew he was a good fit. Hearing him talk like this- be so stirred by something, especially something that’s working to break stigmas - does nothing but prove him right. Thank god. He doesn’t look up, pretending like he’s not listening, and hits stop on his timer a few seconds before it was due to go off, not wanting to interrupt Alvin while he speaks.

The other hosts don’t look so unbothered.

Ares, who is being addressed with this conversation, is hanging on every word, leaning his cheek on his hand as he takes all of the information in. He’s smiling. This had been what he had hoped for. Across the group, Orion has abandoned all hope to continue his conversation, instead listening with a sparkle in his eyes as he clutches to Usa-Chan. Alvin wasn’t as much of a let down as he had first thought.

When he finally finishes speaking, Ares shoots Zacharie a look™ to signal he had overstepped, and takes the lead.

"It _is_ interesting!! I didn't know any of that, and I've lived here my whole life - wow. It's really cool they're trying to break stigmas on stuff - my parents _do_ say that we prioritize mental health far worse here than they do in America... thank you for telling me about that. I've always respected fashion even if I have no sense of it, but I respect it even more now."

Alvin flicked his eyes up towards Ares’ face. His own cheeks were so hot, it looked like you could boil ramen on them. Like if you flicked water onto them, it would just immediately boil off. He seemed truly bewildered by Ares’ interest in Alvin’s ramblings. Bewildered and dubious. He didn’t believe Ares actually cared, and he was still so embarrassed that he’d talked so much.

Pierre looks up, thoughtfully brushing his bottom lip with his thumb. He observes, "Percy's new boyfriend is into Yami Kawaii... perhaps you should meet him."

Orion turns, fast paced due to his shock.

"Percy has a _boyfriend?"_

"She has for a few weeks now, yes."

Alvin wasn’t just invested in Japanese street fashion and Yami Kawaii themes for the sake of destroying stigmas. He had a personal stake in all of this. Silently, he wondered if Percy’s mysterious new boyfriend had a similar motivation. He hoped not. He didn’t know this man and he didn’t really like these people and he wasn’t a fan of how fragile and breakable he felt when he was here, but he wouldn’t wish _that_ on his worst-

...okay, well, maybe he would wish it on his _worst_ enemy, but like, any normal person, no.

Pierre wondered the exact same thing. After his first visit to Harajuku, he had taken an expansive amount of time to research and understand the branches of Japanese street fashion. This had sent him down a rabbit hole that had enlightened him to Yami Kawaii and it’s attributes, something that he respected deeply. However, upon meeting the tall, tired eyed boy with a bandaged hand interlocked in his sister's, and hearing this similarly tired eyed boy speak so avidly about it, he can only be one thing: _worried._

“I don’t really want to meet your sister’s boyfriend,” Alvin mumbles, grouchily, pulling his feet up into the chair to hug his knees to his chest, “I didn’t even want to meet _you.”_

“A little too late for that now, I’m afraid,” Lincoln says, quietly. It didn’t sound sarcastic or annoyed like most of Zacharie’s comments so far. It was just a gentle reminder of reality. Alvin didn’t want to be reminded of reality, however. So he ignored it.

"You might end up meeting him no matter what - he doesn't go here, so the chances are slimmer than they could be, but Percy has taken a liking to him. I suspect she'll bring him here sometime."

"Oh, I hope so," Orion's voice is hushed with wonder, but he's not looking up anymore. He's too busy fiddling with one of Usa-Chan's ears. "Does he dress up like that? I bet he's pretty."

"I've only met him once, but according to that and his files, yes, he seems to wear Yami Kawaii fashion often."

"Pretty... Do you do that too, Alvin?"

Alvin pinches the sleeve of his blazer between his thumb and forefinger, fiddling with it, tugging it, dropping it, and picking it back up again. He was fidgeting. He’d like to be sketching right now. That would help.

“Uh... only outside of school,” he murmurs, silently plotting out what he’d say ahead of time so he wouldn’t get carried away again, “...my preferred style is Decora Kei... has a lot of intense clashing colors and a surplus of accessories... which is a little, um... much... for school... especially when you’re really trying not to draw attention to yourself.”

“So you’re only like this here?” Cedric asks from his table.

“Like... what?” Alvin looks up, slowly.

“You know,” Cedric gestures vaguely at Alvin’s person, “like this. Rude, guarded, nippy, jaded... you know, your whole deal. But outside, it’s like Frosty the Snowman. You put on your - what did you call it...? Decora Kei? And suddenly you’re all bright and chipper and full of life?”

Alvin stares at Cedric.

"...no.”

Cedric seemed disappointed, “Oh. That must be... quite a juxtaposition. Your _deal,_ as we have established, underneath all that color.”

"I guess,” Alvin mutters, before realizing something.

"It’s been a minute and four seconds since the timer should have gone off,” he comments, “and you said I could go home after this.”

Zacharie’s eyebrows were buried in his hairline, “A minute and f-“

"I was counting,” Alvin answers Zacharie’s question before it was even asked.

 _Rude, guarded, nippy, jaded..._ Pierre can't help but be certain that there's much more to Alvin than that. Today had given them a promising glimpse - but yes, it's a good idea to quit while they're ahead and let him go home. At the mention of just how much time has elapsed since the timer was due to ring, Pierre's eyes flick to his clock. Right on the money. My god, Alvin had been right... he truly is phenomenal with numbers. A rarity with creatives.

Pierre masks that awe - pushes it down into a bog. He could not allow it to surface.

"Yes, you may go, our working hours are soon enough and I have things aside from this to accomplish... do your best to get some sleep this time, hm? I will not be as lenient tomorrow."

He begins to type.

"You are dismissed."

Before Vin can dart out, Ares leans forward and murmurs, "Thank you for talking with me. Have a nice d-"

"Night Alvin!" Orion interrupts at a shout.

Ares smiles. "Yea, goodnight."

Alvin doesn’t even bat an eye at Pierre trying to keep the ball in his court. He just wanted to get out and go home. He needed to do homework and a skincare routine, and, yes, even though he was tempted to skip it out of spite for Pierre, he needed to sleep. He’d get some water and a piece of bread, too - a light, carb-heavy snack that would help settle his stomach, and if he got enough rest, he should be able to have breakfast tomorrow. He could get his life back on track - at least a little bit.

He bolts to his feet, slinging his bag onto his shoulder, and pauses to acknowledge Ares’ and Orion’s well-wishes, before spinning on his heel and making a beeline for the door without even saying goodbye.

"He failed the first two dates and narrowly passed the third,” Zacharie comments once Alvin was out of earshot, “and none of those resembled actual dates in any way, shape, or form. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Lincoln rises out of his seat, clutching a piece of paper in his hand, “I think Cedric and I have an idea that could help.”

"Oh? What’s that?” Zacharie asks.

The twins exchange a glance and then exit the room without answering, presumably to catch up to Alvin before he gets too far away. Zacharie feels uneasy about that. He has a bad feeling about whatever they have planned... but that was typical when it came to the Al-Ahdal twins.

He gets up to wander over to Pierre’s laptop and see if he can sneak a peek at his notes, speaking French, saying, quietly, "He’s making this very hard on you. I greatly admire your determination, my dear. We have to set up for today’s business, but I’d like to hear some of your thoughts now, if possible. You know how I love to hear what’s on your mind."

Orion doesn't know much French - certainly not enough to piece together all of Zacharie’s words to Pierre, but he does recognize one thing for sure.

His ears had caught the words _ma chère._

My dear... Ori knows that Pierre tends to call people that, as a part of his detached charm, but it’s more unusual for Zacharie. He’d call the girls that, for sure, but Pierre...? Hm. The boy has suspected before that he has a crush, but this only strengthens it.

You know who _really_ has a crush? Pierre. Pierre _really_ has a crush, and hearing Zacharie use that term of endearment for him is enough to release a kaleidoscope of butterflies into his stomach... or perhaps an eclipse of moths would be more fitting. He loves to hear what’s on his mind... oh, how he wishes he had the courage to tell him what’s truly there right now.

Glancing at his computer, he deliberates his response. The open word document is organized well, with the day’s date, objective, and time displayed, along with numbered sections with each group for notes regarding them in particular. Unsurprisingly, he’s written the most for the third box, a sizable enough paragraph that is impressive to have been composed in so little time and whilst multitasking so much. There’s still a good amount of writing for the first two boxes too, though. Pierre continues to outdo himself.

He matches Zacharie's French with his own, "He's making it difficult, yes, but not as difficult as he could be. He's already cracking, after all. I do think that if we continue to push him and prove we care at least somewhat, he could become a model host in a matter of a few weeks. It's an intriguing enough experiment; it will succeed of course, but I hope it succeeds efficiently."

All of this is said in a cold, unremarkable tone, whilst he creates a final box for finishing notes and begins to type those. He refuses to say anything regarding emotions - either his or Alvin’s, or anything about why he chose him. Sigh... well, it was a bit bold to expect _Pierre_ to talk for real, I guess...

Zacharie skims the notes, not taking too much in all at once, subtly resting his hand on Pierre’s shoulder.

He liked to touch Pierre. He didn’t get to do it often, and certainly not in the ways he longed to, but whenever he got a chance to brush his fingers against him and pass it off as platonic, he took it. Leaning toward the computer screen from behind him offered the perfect opportunity. Pierre tenses a little bit under his hand, but only due to surprise and perhaps the urge to convince Zacharie that he is not enjoying this.

Zacharie would have never guessed that Pierre looked forward to his touch.

In fact, if you were to ask Zacharie if he thought Pierre was interested in him, Zacharie would say he doesn’t even believe Pierre to consider him a friend. He’s under the impression that he’s no more than a colleague to Pierre, and an irksome one at that. Zacharie believes Pierre to dislike him very much, only putting up with him so they could keep this club, this safe space for both of them and their friends, running smoothly.

It was one of those symbiotic relationships that Orion had mentioned. Nothing more.

And Zacharie had long since accepted that fact.

Pierre works hard to keep up that appearance - of not caring. Of being perfectly indifferent enough to where even his best friend doubts his true affections. He’s not even sure why he does it, really. He knows he needs to keep a distance, but he’s not sure why he compulsively does it with Zacharie, of all people... with even Orion. The only person with a key to his heart is Percy. Only Percy.

"He’s pushing so hard, trying to make us despise him. He’s trying to force us to give up our faith. Obviously, we are too determined for that to work," Zacharie’s voice is casual as he continues to share his perspective on their new trainee, “My only worry is our customers. They won’t be so patient. The smug, stubborn type appeals to only a small, select demographic, and only for so long. Women don’t actually want a bad boy in real life. We’ll have to find a way to buy him some time to open up. Perhaps we could have him shadow different hosts each day. If we present him as new and untrained, his behavior will be more forgivable. When we eventually set him loose on our clients, I think we should play up his closed off nature as humility and bashfulness."

"Having him work as a shadow is an excellent idea... that is the best course of action. Far easier and safer than giving him over to the girls so early... thank you." 

He withdraws, removing his hand from Pierre’s person and tucking it into his pocket, finishing with, “I think that’s what it really is, anyway. Bashfulness. He doesn’t want to let us believe that he is a decent person. He probably doesn’t think he’s earned that title. We’ll talk after the other hosts have left, after business hours. I’d like to hear, in truthful detail, what makes you think that he’s earned it - and don’t say you haven’t been thinking that, because if you didn’t think he was a decent person, you wouldn’t be so adamant about adopting him.

He turns and strides away, towards the twins who had just re-entered the club room, switching to Japanese to ask them about their schemes and give them their instructions for the afternoon.

_Adopting him._

What an odd choice of words. It puts Pierre in a parental role, and paints the club as a whole as some kind of lost-and-found family, trying to open its arms to a new addition.

What a nice image.

Pierre refuses to acknowledge that phrase... adopting Alvin. Adopting...

That’s exactly what it is. This host club is his family, and he works his very hardest to ensure they are safe and healthy. Recruiting Vin is an attempt to give him that structure. But he won’t admit that - not to anyone but Percy. She’s the only one he permits to know of him being a good person - or any kind of person, for that matter. He can’t stand anyone else being aware... being fond of him...

Long after Zacharie is gone, Pierre is whispering to himself in French, watching him from behind, "Hm... that’s an... intriguing notion, Zacharie.”

Business hours were over in a flash, as they typically were. After working in a club like this for a while, the days start to blur together. It would be nice and refreshing when Alvin started coming around more regularly. He’d add a much-needed break from routine. But for now, it was business as usual. After the girls exited, the boys packed up and went home, one at a time, Zacharie hanging around to leave last as he always did, making sure to get a chance to speak to Pierre about who Alvin would shadow on his first shift and also to ask him to send his notes and any ideas to Zacharie’s phone. He didn’t want to hold Pierre up for too long.

However, just before Zacharie let him walk out the door, he said, quietly, "By the way... if he ever insults you again, I'm going to slap him."

Pierre is quiet for a moment, and then makes his exit.

Later, Percy is given the gift of hearing Pierre relay every little thing that happened with Zacharie that day. He’s pacing around the room, the picture of pent up frustration and longing, with one hand strewn into his undone hair. When he rants like this, he tends to do so in a mixture of Haitian Creole and French.

“I simply don’t understand him. He cares so much... he trusts me blindly. What allows him to do that? Is it foolishness? Naivety? A refusal to process how unkind I am? Why -“

“Get over yourself,” Percy is staring up at the ceiling, laying completely limp on her back on Pierre’s bed. She’s dead-faced.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re kind. Shut up.”

“Perseus -“

“Don’t call me that just to prove you’re a dick. You’re not. Keep going, but don’t insult yourself.”

“That’s rich from the lips of -“

He falters as Percy turns her neck to stare him dead in the eyes, then fumbles and does what she asked of him.

She’s the only one who can get him to back down.

“His trust is so blind, so unyielding... I utterly despise it. With it, he will only hurt himself, impale himself on the treachery of others, he’ll -“

“But.”

“But?”

“There’s a but coming.”

“There is not a but coming, all I am saying is that his stupidity is going to be his ruin, and then I’m going to have to be the one to mop it all up and piece him back together.”

A beat of silence follows that statement.

There had been a but coming. He’s just too embarrassed to admit it now.

Percy sighs.

_“But?”_

“But - wipe that look off your face - I love that about him.“

“I know, honey... C’mere.”

In a reluctant turn around to everything Pierre shows and is _determined_ to show about himself, he moves as directed. He allows himself to be at rest on his back next to Percy, and he allows her to take his hand in hers. She yawns, reveling in the pride that couples with getting Pierre to engage in some self care.

“What else did he say...?”

“Just before we parted ways, he professed that he’d slap Alvin if he spoke the way he did to me again.”

“Pierre.”

“Yes?”

“You need to tell him.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I need to tell him?”

“That you love him.”

“Nope.”

“You need to tell him. He loves you back, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s just... him. The quiddity of Zacharie. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Horseshit.”

“Language.”

“Fuck off.”

“You love him, and he loves you back, but nothing will come of it because you both have your head up your ass.”

”No.”

“It’s true.”

“Stop it...”

“Okay...” Sensing Pierre isn’t going to let up, and that he’ll kick her out if she keeps insisting, she changes the subject, a knowing, amused smile teasing at her lips, “...he touch you again today?”

“Good lord, did he ever...”

They discuss Zacharie and Pierre’s pining for him a little longer, before moving onto matters of Percy’s day, and her skating, and Tobias. Soon enough, she’s leaving after urging him to go to sleep, and he’s almost listening to her.

Almost. Instead, he’s up half past three researching Welsh mythology, and composing a short story about a dragon hunter getting into a bit more than she’d bargained for. He doesn’t feel particularly pleased about it - fantasy never makes him feel productive, but he will admit he loves the character. When he dozes off, it’s at his desk.


	2. Starting Today, You are a Host! (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Most chapters are based off of episodes from the source material. This one is based off of episode 1, Starting Today, you are a Host!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I'm adapting this from an rp with a friend of mine. Our writing styles are subtly different, and we'd started this just for fun, so apologies if I miss any mistakes or if some things don't make perfect sense. I'm trying to catch all the typoes (and plot holes) as I copy, paste, organize, and revise. If you see a typo, please point it out so I can hop back in and fix it! We have written... far more than I realized we had, so I'll be a little swamped with edits for a bit. Anyway, thank you and enjoy!

“We’ve sent him-“

“-Collectively-“

“-fifty-seven messages so far-“

"-since he left campus yesterday-“

"-and he hasn’t replied to a single one,” the twins were saying, in response to Zacharie asking them where they thought Alvin was. He hadn’t come to the club with them this time. Apparently, he’d left class earlier to go to the bathroom and hadn’t been seen since.

"Would he really have just... ditched school like that just to avoid us?” Zacharie asks, sounding understandably frustrated, “Can he afford to do that? If he got caught skipping, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, there’s no way they’d just let him get away with-“

Zacharie’s jaw snaps shut and he spins to face the door, which had cut him off by creaking open.

In slouches their prisoner. Alvin looked tired, but not as bad as he had yesterday. His hair was messy, but in a deliberate sort of way, like maybe he’d curled it and then brushed it out to give it some texture and life. He was also wearing big round glasses with thin silver frames. God, he was adorable.

"We thought you ditched us,” Lincoln calls from the table he was lounging up against.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave class to use the restroom before, and the timing was really suspicious, and _then_ you never returned,” Cedric adds, “If you weren’t trying to escape school or the club, what took you so long?”

"That’s not why I went to the bathroom,” Alvin grumbles, throwing his backpack down on the nearest chair and avoiding eye contact with any of the group members, “I mean, I thought about it once I was there, but it’s not why I went in the first place, and I figured even if I tried, you freaks would just track me down in a helicopter and bring me back in a garbage bag or coffin or some shit...”

“You’re correct,” Zacharie places his hands in his pockets and glides over, “You owe us money. We’ll break your kneecaps so you can’t run, if we have to.”

"Whoa,” Alvin said, lowly, pushing his glasses up on his nose, “Zero-to-sixty.”

"Vinnie, my pal,” Zacharie says, ignoring how startlingly graphic and violent his joke(?) threat had been and plastering a charming smile across his face, “Let me fill you in on the plans for today. I’m sure you’re aware, as you were trying so desperately to achieve this, but you did... poorly on your dates yesterday. But on the third one, you showed a lot of improvement. I’m starting to see the same potential Pierre sees. If only you’d loosen up a little, I think you’d be an endearing addition to our team.”

"I still don’t want t-“

"Today, we’re starting by having you sit and date the two hosts you didn’t sit with yesterday - Cedric and myself - in private. Maybe you’ll feel a bit more comfortable with less eyes on you. The dates will be longer so the two of us can provide guidance and instruction, and the audio will be taped, for Pierre to review later. After that, you’ll shadow each host for a short while during business hours, until we close for the day. Sound good?”

Privacy. Not being stared at.

"...uh... better than yesterday,” Alvin mutters, “but still not great.”

"Awesome.”

"What do you mean by... shadow?”

"You’ll follow the host around and run little errands and observe them while they work,” Zacharie explains, “Hopefully you’ll learn a thing or two. I’m contemplating giving you an informal quiz to work on at home...”

 _"More_ homework?” Alvin groans, “What about _I already have too much_ don’t you un-“

"I think you’ll shadow Pierre first, just to get that out of the way. Go ahead, get settled, I’m going to go make sure the little area I’ve partitioned off for your dates is ready...” Zacharie seems fond of talking over Vin. Truth was, Zacharie figured that if Alvin couldn't get a word in edgewise, he also wouldn't be able to verbally abuse anyone, either. Humming, Zacharie waltzes away towards a corner that was shrouded by folding room dividers.

Alvin is left there, pouting. Lincoln and Cedric gradually sidle up to him.

"So... what _were_ you doing in the bathroom?” Linc hummed, wrapping an arm around Vin’s shoulder.

"None of your goddamn business,” Alvin replied, immediately wrenching himself away and searching the room with his eyes for the Shadow King, cold dread settling in his chest at the thought of having to hang around him for any extended length of time.

Pierre is in his corner, as usual, head buried in a book as thick as a cinderblock. Percy is sitting on the table he’s resting it on, leaning on her arms with her head thrown back. She appears to be speaking to him while he highlights something and adds a sticky note that looks like a little pine tree. It’s a miracle her words don’t wreck his focus to the point where he snaps at her. Maybe he just doesn’t snap at his twin sister. From what the rumors profess, they’re the only people who truly understand and fully tolerate one another.

“Pierre, look,” Percy imparts, suddenly, “Your little project has arrived.”

He looks. Now, all four piercing glaciers are turned on Alvin. A full set! In sync, the twins rise from their positions of choice and waltz over to the boy. Lincoln and Cedric are at his sides, and Percy and Pierre are at his front - how many sets of twins are even at this school...? If there was another pair, they could stand behind Vin and completely trap him in.

“You look better today,” Percy observes, wrapping one arm around Pierre’s neck and putting her other hand on his opposite shoulder in an affectionate but casual pose.

Pierre finishes, “I take it you decided to do what’s best and follow my orders?”

“Keep it up, and you’ll have a normal sleep schedule,” Percy advises, smiling a little. It’s clear she wants Alvin to do well - unlike her brother. Pierre acts like he would be unbothered if Alvin had been latched up in the stocks.

“Zacharie filled you in on your duties for the day, correct?” Pierre asks.

Alvin _did_ look better today. Stronger. He’d had two meals and about seven hours of sleep. Unlike yesterday, he could handle these two and their remarks. He could handle hearing it. He could even handle biting back with some snark.

When Pierre and Percy approached and they both made their comments, Vin slowly raised his chin, the lenses of his round glasses flashing in the light, and he says, voice oozing sarcasm, “Oh, yea, _followed_ your _orders._ Thanks for the _tip,_ by the way. Before you, I’d never fucking _SLEPT_ before. I don’t know _HOW_ I managed to _SURVIVE_ over a _DECADE_ without your _ORDERS_ teaching me how to take care of myself. I can’t believe how _EASY_ sleeping came to me, too, almost as if I already fucking _KNEW HOW TO DO IT_ without your _priceless fucking help._ Got any other _golden_ pieces of advice for me? Like _blinking?_ Or remembering to _breathe_ once in a while? Maybe you’d like to teach me how to walk, too, or how to chew my food. You could demonstrate, chew it first and then mama bird that shit right the _fuck_ into my mouth.”

Lincoln and Cedric were finding it more and more difficult not to yell _oOF-_ throughout this whole tirade, and it showed on their faces as they avoided making eye contact with anyone, lest Pierre or Percy’s building furies turn them to stone.

Alvin crosses his arms and finishes, boldly, “And yea. He told me.”

Despite the many, many gracious warnings and chances he had been given, Alvin had failed to watch his tongue. Percy’s eyes widen when the endless flow of sarcasm starts belching out of Alvin, and her gaze flicks to Pierre. One look is all she needs to know she needs to clear out, so she carefully withdraws her arms from around him and regains her original position just standing at his side. It has been established many times already that Pierre is a man of subtleties. His second worst fear is revealing his emotions, just under having someone he cares for dying. He doesn’t show his emotions. However, if you look closely enough, he has a few tells. He tilts his head downwards at Alvin, squinting slightly. His lips twitch together, once. Percy, who is watching him from the corner of her eye, grows visibly tense at that last one.

_Uh oh._

In one deft movement, Pierre leans forwards and snatches up Alvin’s tie, yanking it upwards, upwards, upwards, until he’s being choked. Their faces are an inch away from one another. He could kiss him in a second. Or spit in his face. It.. seems more likely for the latter to occur.

_“C̄hạn cheụ̄̀x ẁā khuṇ k̄hêācı c̄hạn p̄hid.”_

Lincoln and Cedric were shocked at the appearance of the Thai. Neither of them had heard this language before, and to them, it seemed that Pierre had been possessed by some malicious entity and was now speaking in tongues. He was not, however. This was meant only for Alvin's ears.

He smiles, each perfect white tooth a dagger, and croons, in Japanese, so Lincoln and Cedric could now bear witness to Alvin's punitive humiliation, “Poor thing, so new to this language, so confused... he can’t even grasp basic orders, no wonder his homework is _so_ difficult for him...”

All of this is said in a slow, overly sweet voice - like he’s talking to someone he believes to be incredibly stupid.

_“C̄hạn ca phūd xīk khrậng nı bæb thī̀ khuṇ k̄hêācı dū lîn k̄hxng khuṇ mị̀ xỳāng nận khuṇ kảlạng thả xarị thī̀ yæ̀ kẁā thī̀ wāngp̄hæn wị̂..."_

Pierre does not speak Thai. Last night, he took time out of studying and writing to memorize a couple sentences. He knows close to nothing else, but Alvin doesn’t need to know that.

Pierre tried to ignore how conflicted he momentarily felt, spotting a flash of excitement Alvin’s eyes betrayed when his air supply was suddenly cut off. Unbeknownst to Pierre, this was what Vin was always pushing for: physical punishment. Usually not from men like Pierre, but he’d take whatever he could get, and the thrill in his gaze was probably not what Pierre was aiming for. Not this time, anyway.

But what happened next... the snide remark about his homework... the condescending lilt in Pierre's voice... the way he used Alvin's ancestral tongue as a weapon against him... and the defiant sneer faded, his eyes dulling.

Releasing the necktie, Pierre straightens like what had transpired was him bending to pick up a pencil - not him bending to choke Alvin out. When Vin is freed, he rocks back into place and slowly raises a hand to massage his throat. He wanted to be furious with Pierre, but he was too numb. Pierre kept talking, though, as if none of this had been enough.

“You say you want to be treated like an adult, and yet you go out of your way to act like a whelp.”

“...thought you asked for a _bad boy...”_ Alvin hisses under his breath.

Pierre pointedly ignores that remark and looks at Cedric.

“Take his coat.”

...What? Why?

Cedric wasn’t hesitant to obey, possibly because he didn't want to be strangled for having the nerve to think for himself after what he'd just seen, but he does offer Pierre a confused look before shrugging and grabbing Alvin’s blazer, peeling it off his shoulders despite Vin's cry of, “Hey-!”

Once this task has been started, Pierre turns on his heel and stalks into the storage room. While he’s gone, Percy stares at the door he’d disappeared into, swearing, _“Méd...”_

Cedric stepped back and draped the blazer over his arm while Lincoln held Vin back. Alvin was staring at the blazer with an odd sort of desperation, like an addict just inches away from their next hit. He must... really like the uniform...?

Pierre returns a moment later, toting a new jacket for Alvin. It’s red, clashing against their light blue, with a name tag fastened above the pocket.

It says one word. _สัตว์เลี้ยง._

Only Alvin could read it, but that was enough.

_Pet._

Naturally, Pierre had not consulted with Zacharie on any of this.

“I’d prefer it if you and I stayed as far apart as possible, and I’m sure you would as well, so your session with me will be spent running errands. You will wear this and you will not take it off.” Pierre instructs.

Alvin stares at the red jacket.

He didn’t care about the name tag. He had bigger problems on his mind. Subtly grasping his sleeves to hold them firmly over his palms, he reaches out and snatches the jacket from Pierre, putting it on, scowling.

“Whatever,” Vin growls, “Whatever protects your _fragile_ sense of self-importance.”

Lincoln and Cedric didn’t like that, and it showed on their faces, but honestly, they really couldn’t say anything after Pierre had literally just physically assaulted him.

Cedric cleared his throat, then said, “I think I’m going to go hang up his jacket...”

“Oh,” Lincoln jumps in, “I’ll help.”

The two practically sprinted away. Vin watched them go, then rounded on Pierre again, giving him a slow once-over, as if debating tackling him to the ground and breaking his perfect nose and jaw.

But then, Zacharie called from the corner.

“Alvin, honey, time for your dates,” he says in a faux-sweet voice, like a housewife to her husband.

Alvin frowns, then crosses to Zacharie without another word to Pierre.

Fragile sense of self-importance? Oh, Alvin, honey. You’re completely wrong. He’d think that Pierre would feel good after taking control like that. Pierre himself thinks he should. Having Alvin under his reign is what he wants, after all. But no. He feels awful. Seeing that look in Alvin’s eyes was enough to knot his stomach like a pair of earbuds that had been left in the bottom of a backpack. His heart picks up. Fuck, he’s a bad person. He is. He’s a villain - a monster undeserving of the kindness or care from anyone around him. This belief is why he acts like this; why he humiliates Alvin, why he’s so cold to his peers. The problem there is that when you act like a bad person to get people to believe it, they _believe it,_ and that causes you to believe it even more. So on and so forth.

This was... stepping over a line. He had lost his temper. He had fucked up.

That doesn’t mean he can’t fix this... take the coat back, apologize... but he won’t. It’s better if there’s a distance.

It’s better.

It's _better._

...right...?

Watching Alvin go, he opens his mouth to say something to Percy, but she interrupts him. For his privacy’s sake, she says it in French.

“You've gone too far. Treating him like that won't help him, Pierre. It will only make things worse. Stop that.”

Pierre had already known all of that, but hearing it from his closest confidante... It stings.

Refusing to make eye contact with her, he just listens when she adds, “I have to go. You better fix this.”

“Goodbye. Good luck at practice.”

Percy sighs, at the end of her rope with him today, and exits. Pierre waits thirty seconds, ensuring she’s left the hallway, then follows. He goes to the third nearest bathroom (to be sure he'd be left alone) to splash water in his face and breathe.

After things like that, even his reflection portrays a villain in his eyes.

He’ll take a step back. He won’t let Alvin like him, but he’ll allow the other hosts to nurture him. He won’t get in their way. That’s what he wanted in the first place.

Right. That’s the best plan.

Taking one more big breath, he nods, straightens his posture, and exits the bathroom.

When Pierre gets back to the club room, Alvin is in the middle of his dates with Cedric and Zacharie. Pierre wouldn’t know this yet, but Vin was doing very poorly. His date with Cedric was a disaster. He refused to speak the entire time, although this time around, it seemed less out of contempt and more out of a genuine lack of self-confidence.

Cedric tried everything to get him to open up. He tried bringing up interests that had made Vin info-dump in the past. He tried being a teacher, encouraging Alvin to play off his mischief as endearing rather than frustrating. He tried vocal warm-ups and breathing exercises. He even tried explicit, raunchy flirting, which was sure to make Pierre flush when he heard the recording later, hoping to crack Alvin into flirting back or even into telling him off. Cedric needed him to speak. There was nothing they could do to help him if he didn’t say anything. And yet he didn’t speak a word until the very end.

All he said was...

_”...please leave me alone.”_

Even Cedric was silent after that.

He traded off with Zacharie, and then went to join his brother, who was waving at him urgently from the dressing room. They had a hushed conversation, before Linc lead his twin into the room, and when they came back out, Lincoln disappeared to help set tables and Cedric made a beeline for Pierre’s little work corner. He didn’t look angry or amused. This was not a social call. He was all business.

"Mr. Thanatos,” he says, slowing to a stop in front of Pierre’s table, “Do you happen to know if our... uh... guest... has a record or something? Like a criminal record. Has he ever been in any, uh, gangs or...? Has he ever been involved in anything violent?”

What a weird question to ask.

Cedric appeared concerned and uncertain, like he’d found a stray puzzle piece, but he didn’t yet know which image it belonged to.

Pierre is composed by the time he is approached. His hands are flying across his keys at the speed of light, composing a thesis about the Hibagon. They stop the instant he hears Cedric approaching, and he turns his head just enough to peer up at him through his horn rimmed spectacles.

“No,” He replies, scanning his mind for every piece of information he had picked up on Alvin through his vigorous studies, “Why do you ask? I highly doubt he was violent to you during your date... rude, perhaps, but not physical.”

He’s pretending not to know what he believes Cedric to be talking about. There was a... possibility that Alvin had grown upset enough at being handled the way he was a moment ago that Cedric suspected Alvin had been assaulted previously. There was a possibility that Pierre had caused some sort of PTSD panic attack. He hadn’t, had he? Nothing of the sort was on his record... darker thoughts, maybe, that had been part of why he wanted to pick him up, but no past trauma.

Did he upset him enough for Cedric to believe something like that...?

Fuck. He’s just pieced himself back together, vanquished the feelings creeping up his throat, and now they’re all rushing back.

He feels... panicky. While Alvin doesn’t have any diagnosed anxiety disorders, Pierre sure does. He needs to relax. That might not have even happened.

“Ah,” Cedric’s frown of thought deepens as he internally questions what he’d discovered, and he shakes his head, subtly, “No, no, he wasn’t violent, he... he was really quiet, actually, but that’s not why I asked. Lincoln was hanging up his jacket, and, well, it felt kind of heavy, so he checked the pockets to see if Alvin had left his phone in there.”

Cedric paused, before inching a little closer, as if he didn’t want anyone else to see or hear what he was about to tell Pierre.

“There was nothing in the outer pockets, but there is one inside pocket in these blazers, and Lincoln looked there too, and, well, this is what we found,” he places his hand down on the table, something heavy gliding out of his sleeve and into his grasp. A small metal rectangle...?

Cedric presses down on a slider on the side and pushes it upwards, revealing an angled blade concealed within the steel.

A... _box cutter._

Cedric sets it by Pierre’s laptop.

“This is... very dangerous contraband... thank you for bringing it to my attention,” the shadow king replies, calmly, looking away from the object. 

“Yes, well... I guess maybe he could have it for school purposes. Or... self-defense, maybe. He walks to and from campus, so that would make sense,” Cedric reasons, “but I figured you’d want to see that and decide how to react. Do with it what you will. I’m... going to go check on Linc.”

With that, he strides away, leaving Pierre with this ominous tool.

Pierre had been acting as if he was unperturbed or possibly even disinterested in Cedric's finding. When Cedric is truly gone, however, he takes it and stows it in his bag.

A boxcutter.

_A boxcutter..._

That panicky feeling triples. To Pierre, it feels like his stomach is eating itself, like the acid inside it has grown lethal enough to burn through the organ and break it down the way it’s meant to do for food.

A _boxcutter._

Any of Cedric’s guesses were valid. There could be a completely reasonable explanation for having this on his person. Self-defense, of course... and Alvin was an artist, for Christ’s sake...

But he wasn’t taking any art courses here at Ouran... there isn’t any class work he’s being provided that would require an object of those capabilities.

It could be fine... It could be normal...

Pierre might believe that if he hadn’t used a boxcutter just like that on... himself before. The lines on his legs, telling painful stories, start to itch...

Alvin has shown symptoms of depression before. He could be having self-destructive thoughts.

He could be... he... could be...

...despite the many possible other explanations, Pierre can’t risk allowing Alvin to hurt himself. He can’t.

Alvin was going to be panicked beyond belief to find that his (objectively unhealthy) coping mechanism was now missing from his blazer. Not that it made much of a difference. He had plenty of other methods at home. It needed to be confiscated, of course, anyway, but if only it had been confiscated by someone willing to show Alvin compassion... If Vin found out Pierre was the one who had it and confronted him about it, regardless of the man’s true feelings about Alvin’s self-care, Alvin would likely leave the interaction only feeling looked down on, as he always did after a conversation with Pierre. Best case scenario, he would leave feeling pitied, but even that would really suck.

A couple minutes later, Zacharie emerged from the partitioned corner and made his way over to Pierre to drop yet another Alvin-related item by his computer. This time it was a handheld audio recorder. Zacharie looked disappointed. It may have been a trick of the light, but as Zacharie approached, he thought he saw Pierre’s hands trembling as he typed. No... no, guess not.

“I don’t think you’ll get much out of that. He spoke very little. It will be hard to follow the date without hearing his end of the exchange. For what it’s worth, he did seem to be listening to my instruction, at least. I think he may just not feel comfortable enough here to play our games like this. Hopefully today’s shadow session will help him settle in better. We’ll work on opening him up, and then try these dates again, as a test, in a couple weeks. If he passes, then he’ll get a table and we’ll let guests request him,” Zacharie fills Pierre in, formally. He really meant it when he said he was supporting Pierre in this endeavor.

Pierre glances at the other boy, unable to not take notice of the physical release of anxiety he experiences to just take in his features. Zacharie...

“Thank you. I’ll ensure my notes are thorough... despite the pity that he did not cooperate... I do believe shadowing is the best way forwards, and you’re right, utilizing the dates as progress checks is a good idea...”

Zacharie pauses, then says, innocently avoiding eye contact, “You know, if you like, I could come over to your place this evening and we could listen to the recording together. So I can tell you what I noticed that you can’t hear. Like his... body language and eye contact. I mean, he does seem to communicate more clearly with his actions than with his words, so maybe we’ll have to work with a new strategy to play off of those strengths instead of forcing him to master dialogue as an entirely new skill right off the bat. But... that’s all something we could discuss together. This evening. If you... want, of course.”

Oh, Zacharie. You are so transparent.

Pierre seems... out of it. He’s clearly listening and paying attention, but something about his tone and the glint in his crystalline eyes conveys that he doesn’t care about this right now. The truth is, he does, but he’s started to dissociate as Alvin had his first day here, and his mind is fogging like his glasses do when he takes something out of the oven. Due to this, it takes him a second to process Zacharie’s proposal for this evening.

Having him over...? Really? Oh, yes, please...

“That would prove... efficient. If your schedule permits it, mine does as well.”

These two fucking idiots. Writing for them is so painful.

“Oh, please, you know that this and spending time with you are the only things I do outside of school,” Zacharie says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement, despite how there was something... sad... about his gaze, “My schedule is wide-open. I’ll come over after dinner, I wouldn’t want your family to feel like they have to provide me a meal.”

This was standard protocol for Zacharie. He avoided being at the Thanatos household around mealtimes at all costs. Sure, he might be... well, I suppose a nice word would be _proactive..._ about stopping by and saying hello, but he never tried to take up a lot of space while he was there. Easy, honestly, considering he was so small.  
“Then,” Pierre says, fighting against the urging of his self-hatred to believe that this is wrong, “You should be aware that you are always welcome. I believe we’re having tonkatsu tonight, we’ll have enough to share.”

It’s rare for Pierre to actually offer a meal. One reason for this is keeping the distance, as he’s aware that food tends to be a surefire way into people’s hearts, whether they mean it to or not. But, more importantly, this is due to the fact that most nights they’re eating something from his home culture. His _real_ home culture, not that bullshit he insists about being from France. Even though their languages had so much overlap, Creole cuisine greatly differentiated from French cuisine, and so if Zacharie were to notice it... well, Pierre’s whole bogus story would fall through, wouldn’t it? No reason for Pierre to worry about that, though. Zacharie wasn’t going to come for dinner. He was never going to come for dinner. While Pierre wasn’t known for doing something just to be polite (unless you were paying him to do so) Zacharie felt so strongly that he was disliked that on any of the rare occasions that Pierre extended him a nicety, he assumed it was all for the sake of maintaining order around the club.

It didn’t make a _ton_ of sense, but then again, neither did Zacharie.

Zacharie lingers by Pierre’s table for a second, as if he wanted to say something else, and eventually, he did, but it didn’t seem to be all that he _wanted_ to say.

“...listen... you seem a little... untethered, at the moment. I think I’m going to get you some more tea, and maybe a snack,” Zacharie’s voice is soft and tentative, “and as a reminder, if you need to talk about anything, you can always talk to me. You’ve never taken advantage of that, of course, which is alright, but I just don’t want you to forget that I’m here for you.”

Pierre's focus zeroes in on Zacharie when he offers food. He was right: he’s incredibly untethered right now. That thing about humans only using a small percentage of their brain? He feels like he’s using even less of his than normal.

“Thank you, I _am_ a bit hungry, I'll admit...”

He will not admit that he’s out of it. He will not admit that he’s been... thinking about self-harm.

But he will admit he could eat.

Zacharie nods slowly, brushing his fingers on the back of Pierre’s hand and then resting them on his wrist. It was as if Zacharie was contemplating intertwining their arms and squeezing their palms together. Looking down at their connected hands, Pierre becomes all too aware of the moths dancing in his stomach. Zacharie doesn't move for a second before withdrawing, as he always did. He then picks up Pierre’s empty teacup and turns, making his way over to the refreshments table to refill it.

Not another word is uttered until Zacharie is out of earshot, when Pierre touches his bottom lip thoughtfully, and murmurs, “Hm...” like he’d heard something particularly perplexing.

Zacharie is fixing Pierre’s tea and contemplating which of Ares’ treats would appeal to him the most before Pierre’s next visitor arrived. This one wasn’t going to drop by and then head off, though, unlike Cedric and Zacharie.

Alvin looked spacey again. He showed up by Pierre’s table and said absolutely nothing. He didn’t look at Pierre, he didn’t take a seat, he didn’t ask about his first task. All he did was stand there, one hand fiddling with his other sleeve, that red blazer clashing unattractively with his purple and blue hair.

Well.

It looks like the both of them are untethered. _You_ did that, Pierre.

“Sit,” The Shadow King orders, working around the painful obstruction in his stomach growing at the sight of Alvin like that.

He’s permitting him to take a break, a breather... he’s just not wording it that way. Being purposefully vague makes it seem like he’s about to have a meeting with the boy, instead of just ensuring he takes a second to gather himself.

Alvin doesn’t sit. Perhaps if Pierre wanted him to rest, he should have told him to run five miles. The more aggressive and ruthless Pierre became, the less cooperative Alvin would be.

“Business hours start soon, but until then I don’t have anything more for you. Take the time to do what you wish - as long as it’s not breaking anymore vases.”

Ordering him to sit, only to then immediately tell him he can go...?

To Alvin, it must seem like he’s trying to keep him on his toes.

Vin had decided he didn’t _hate_ Zacharie. Zacharie seemed to have a heart, even if he clearly didn't like Alvin - not that Alvin could or would ever blame him. And the twins, of course, intrigued Vin, even if they were a bit annoying. He was on the fence about Orion, who seemed positively precious, but Alvin knew that there was something else underneath that adorable facade, encouraging him to remain on his toes, even though he appeared genuine. And Ares... Alvin was angry to admit it, but he really liked the big guy. He and Orion both had an uncanny way of making Alvin feel safe, simply by smiling at him. Alvin hated that.

But not nearly as much as he hated Pierre. On the one hand, it was good that Alvin could never be comfortable knowing that this man was in the same room. Made it easy for Alvin to take the first out he saw. But on the other hand... nobody wants to be constantly reminded how worthless they are. So, of course, Alvin ignored the direct command to sit. He didn’t sit until Pierre instructed him to go off on his own, at which point he dropped into the chair next to Pierre’s and dug around in his backpack for his sketchbook, muttering, “...that wasn’t my fault, and you know it...” under his breath.

This is when Zacharie returned with the tea.

He sets the cup within Pierre’s reach, flicking a glance towards Alvin, before focusing on the Shadow King. He’d also brought a dish with four macarons on it, which he placed between the pair. Pierre's eyes fall to the tea and the cookies. Of all the things he could have grabbed, he managed to grab one of the only things Pierre enjoys. He _loves_ macarons...

“Make sure you eat something, okay...?” Zacharie urges Pierre, gently, reaching across the table to touch his wrist again, lingering under the guise of getting his attention. Their eyes meet. Pierre remains stoic, unbothered, like being touched like this didn’t cause any feeling beneath his cold exterior, but there’s just _something_ in the way he looks at him. It’s an intensity, an emotion - it’s just impossible to tell which one. Maybe he despises Zacharie. Maybe he fears him. Maybe he adores him. ...and then, Zacharie pulls away and turns to get back to work.

His exit is accompanied with the continuance of Pierre’s staring. He watches him leave, eyes trained on the back of his head, and heart absolutely throbbing.

Once he was out of earshot, Alvin spoke, narrowing his eyes on Pierre’s profile.

“So what exactly _is_ your relationship with daddy dearest over there?” He jerks his head in Zacharie’s direction.

“Nothing of importance,” He drawls, turning back to Alvin at the question, “We run the club together, and he has been to my house a handful of times to discuss its matters. Our positions here are instated for our own self benefit - it is not my intention for him to care about whether I eat or not. It’s infuriating... and just Zacharie’s character for you.” He raises the cup of tea to his lips, privately appreciative, but does not touch the macarons. Not while Alvin is around.

 _“Nothing of importance...”_ Alvin echoes, sounding entirely unconvinced, as he locates a mostly empty page in his sketchbook and starts to draw tight coils using shimmery violet ink to construct a figure, “Does _he_ know that? Because I’m getting a very distinct _hot-for-teacher_ vibe.”

Pierre would get the distinct sense that Alvin was actively trying to make him feel uncomfortable again. This was payback for his humiliation earlier.

“He talked about _you_ all the way through our... _date_ today,” Alvin continues, casually, “Made it very clear that I was not the one he wanted to be alone with... well, not _yet_ anyway, but if you say you aren’t interested, he’ll have to move on _sometime,_ and I’m more than eager to be there to lend a hand with that. I mean, he’s not very smart, IQ of a toaster and the ego of Narcissus himself, but I guess he’s kind of cute... might be fun for a couple rounds in the bedroom.”

Alvin was not at all attracted to Zacharie. Not even physically. But he was excellent at pretending to be. His goal?

Piss off Pierre again.

But this time, the angrier Pierre became, the worse the punishment, the better. The stronger his reaction, the more obvious it was that Alvin was correct. Alvin was polyamorous, but he didn’t think Zacharie or Pierre were. There was no way Pierre would be okay with Alvin moving in on his territory, even if the Shadow King intended to make no moves himself.

Pierre feels his heart accelerate considerably. It was already going fast... now, it’s jackrabbiting in his chest, pounding in his ears. He’s going to begin panicking if he doesn’t calm himself down.

This is alright. He’s... alright. Alvin is just trying to piss him off, to break his stoicism. He won’t.

Heaving a sigh, it sounds like Alvin has ticked him off - but more of a subtle annoyance than true anger. In reality, he’s taking a deep breath to stabilize himself. Breathing comes easier after that.

“If you plan on bedding Zacharie... don’t. He is not the type to go along with a one-night stand and not catch feelings for his partner. So far, he’s been the one to provide mercy on you. Breaking his heart will ruin that.”

 _If you plan on bedding Zacharie..._ Who talks like that? No normal teenager, that’s for sure. Well... he didn’t get angry. He sounds unbothered. Untethered. Like what Alvin does with Zacharie is none of his business, but he understands enough on how he works to look at it logically. Maybe he really _doesn’t_ like him... huh...

“Awe, _bedding,_ cute. You can say _fucking_ around me, don't worry, I won’t tell mommy,” Alvin says, turning his gaze to his sketchbook again, building on the shape he’d started earlier.

Pierre doesn’t miss a beat in replying to Alvin’s quiz against his formal manner of speech. He’s grown up with Percy, so he’s learned how to riposte, “You’re right, _bedding_ wasn’t the most fitting word for this scenario... how about _fornicate? Philander? Copulate..._ yes, that’s the ticket. If you are planning on _copulating_ with him, be mindful of his-“

“Why are you... doing this to me...?”

Alvin had been silent for a second, letting Pierre retaliate but when he spoke again, he set down his pen, and the _tap_ of the plastic against the wood was somehow stronger and more resounding than his voice. His tone was completely flat, and the quiet of it, so unnatural for Alvin who was prone to talking loud to embarrass or shouting to intimidate and provoke, carried a broken desperation with it.

They were discussing words, weren’t they...? And Pierre was interrupted by that heartbreaking, tiny question. Those cruel, mocking comments screech to a halt, and his heart picks up its pace again. Instead of inappropriate jokes, now, a thousand synonyms for _monster_ are running through Pierre’s head, accusing him, leading him to the edge.

It just slips out, honestly. He’s so overwhelmed, so focused on trying to keep his composure over all these _feelings,_ that he replies, “My dear, moments ago, we were discussing word choice, but yours is just dastardly. _Why are you doing this to me?_ Cliché, weak, overused... How about.. _why have you hurt me so?_ or _what are your motives for this heartbreak?_ Those have much more _pizzazz._ I’d ask you to ask me again, but I already have an answer for you: my actions are based entirely upon whether it benefits me. Being _kind_ to you doesn’t benefit me.”

It’s easy to... lose himself, in those cruel words, before feeling the horror of saying them seconds too late - after they have already sprung from his mouth and done their harm.

Alvin is quiet for a moment longer. He hadn’t even been listening to Pierre’s speech about vocabulary.

He fiddled with the corner of the page he’d been sketching on.

“How does ruining my life benefit you? What are _you_ getting out of this? You already said it wasn’t money. Do you just... like watching people... struggle...? Are you one of those people who can’t be happy unless they’re destroying something else?”

Alvin, for once, wasn’t _trying_ to push anyone’s buttons. At least, not yet. These were all genuine questions. He wanted to know what type of person Pierre really was. It was obvious that he was obsessed with Zacharie, but... that said nothing about his _real_ personality.

“You always bug me about my swearing... I guess I don’t really get the fuss, I mean... my grandmother, when I was really young, she told me that the only bad words are the ones you use to hurt someone else. I’m definitely guilty of that, but at this point, I don’t think I’m the only one at this table who could afford to... _watch their tongue.”_

Ah. There we go. _Now_ he was back to pushing Pierre’s buttons.

Well, he was being truthful, but throwing Pierre’s words back in his face like that was... pointed. Targeted. Painful. Edged.

At first, all Pierre does is stare at Alvin, peering underneath his glasses and echoing those words in his head.

It’s funny. He tells himself this is what he wants - for people to hate him, to think he’s someone who doesn’t deserve their time or energy - but then when that prophecy is fulfilled, he’s... miserable.

...do you remember the black pollution sludge in The Lorax? The schloppity schlop? Pierre adores that book - he loves it. He’s always wanted to be a Lorax of his own, someone who speaks out for those who can’t, or aren’t being allowed to speak for themselves. Right now, he feels like he’s failed that mission, and instead is The Onceler... The Onceler, with his schlop being plugged directly into his veins, all the way to his heart.

In simpler terms... Pierre is hurt by this. Extremely. But... he feels like he deserves that.

“I can’t very much tell you,” He replies, a touch of amusement at a lower layer in his voice, “Now can I? I have never understood villains who monologue, revealing all of their secrets and plans to their nemesis, giving them the exact tools to bring them to their knees. It won’t happen with me, and besides - it’s more fun to keep you wondering.”

Pierre... you dramatic bitch. He brings his tea to his lips, expression only mildly disdained at Alvin’s regurgitation of his words.

“That’s nice in theory,” He says, distantly, as the cup returns to the table, “but the world doesn’t work that way. I will speak as I wish, as endless numbers of leaders will for all time.”

He’s relaying this information back to Alvin, a fact he’s recently, excruciatingly become aware of. There is no emotion in his voice. He’s a robot - but a robot with eyes that, for just a second, look thoroughly unhappy. As soon as that begun, it concludes, and he’s back to looking stoic. Neutral.

“Do you have any more questions for me,” He drawls, “or are you realizing that questioning my authority on our third day of being acquainted with one another is an unwise idea?”

Alvin doesn't bother pointing out that it's always the people telling those begging for compassion that _the world doesn't work that way_ who are the reason that the world doesn't work that way. He doesn't have to. Pierre has already dug his own grave. Oh, Pierre... How ironic. You word smithing king, poetic genius, despite your qualifications and expertise, despite your skill and experience, that was the _wrong_ thing to say.

If you want someone to follow you, to look at you as the leader, you have to sell yourself as the good guy. No one will listen to you if you establish yourself right away as _the villain._

Even actual villains are the heroes of their own stories.

Not only did your desperate attempts to be despised immediately give you away, they have also _destroyed_ your chances of including Alvin in your little family.

He listens for a bit, but after Pierre’s final statement, Alvin turns a slow, cold, calculating look upon him. Pierre might think for one blessed moment that he’s won, but this was... new behavior from Alvin. This was a man who spent his whole life discerning all the best ways to dismantle someone else’s weaknesses for the sake of getting them to fuck off, and yes, Pierre was more complex and it took Vin a couple days, but now... well, Pierre would get the distinct sense that now, Alvin held all the cards.

A wicked, crooked, mocking grin stretched across his face. If only his eyes had any light in them, it would be bright, amused, somehow even sexy, but his brown irises were dark and empty. He looked like a reanimated skeleton wearing a handsome boy’s face as a mask.

Suddenly, he slaps his sketchbook shut and drops it and his pen in his backpack, standing and tearing the red jacket off his shoulders. Another willful disobedience of a direct order.

Dropping it defiantly on top of Pierre’s laptop so he couldn’t ignore it, he says, coolly, dangerously, “You know in superhero movies where the bad guy is always _clearly_ doing bad shit, and he treats all his henchmen like replaceable garbage, and the goons die left and right for a guy who couldn’t care less about their loyalty? And you laugh and cheer at their expense because, _oh, awesome,_ the _hero_ just flung another _stupid worthless bad guy_ over the railing to fall to his death? And nobody ever thinks about how those people might have lives, families, pets... Children. Nobody asks why they’re even working for a guy who does such horrible shit, like, do they _want_ to do that? Are they being lied to? Manipulated? ...blackmailed? Nobody asks that, they don't care as long as the hero wins, and they just clap when they perish. Sorry, _asshole,_ but if you’re going to call yourself the villain, then I’m not playing along. Do whatever the _fuck_ you want, I’m not going to be your replaceable garbage. If I’m going to be a nobody, it’s going to be on my terms, and I’m sure as hell not selling my soul to a guy who doesn’t even _care_ that he’s cruel or unkind.”

He slings the backpack onto his back, looking down his nose at Pierre from his standing position, before slowly leaning in to his directly into his face. his voice was tauntingly quiet and whispery.

"I mean... you _do_ care. You care _very_ much, don’t you? But you’re afraid that nobody will respect you if you’re nice, and, maybe on a deeper level, you don’t even _want_ to be respected, either... you wouldn’t go so far to make me believe you were evil if you wanted me to look up to you and care about you... and if you were _really_ evil, you wouldn't have to go very far at all. I know from experience that it takes _very_ little effort to be a monster... but only if you've got what it takes to start out with. It’s something you’re born into, not something that’s made.”

He leans back.

 _"In summary..._ You’re trying too hard, _friend._ Two out of ten... no one believes you, and no one will stay. See ya.”

He spins on his heel and marches to the dressing room to grab his blazer, too caught up in his dramatic exit to notice that the box cutter was gone, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have come back. He has blades at home, he didn’t need a handle. He exits the music room, the door slamming shut behind him, startling the hosts and causing them to look up in alarm.

"Wait - he’s leaving? He’s just running away? Can he even do that...?” Zacharie asks, staring after Alvin.

Lincoln and Cedric looked tired, but they both rolled up their sleeves, “Mr. Thanatos, you want us to go catch him again...?”

It was a bad idea to send the twins. Not this time. It wouldn’t do any good. Alvin will always be trying to figure out how to escape. He can never feel safe or happy here, let alone be an asset to your team, not when you were trying so hard to establish yourself as the wolf and him as little red riding hood. If you want him here so bad, you’ll have to go after him on your own... and show him you have a heart.

Otherwise, he’ll be expelled and in debt and he won’t even have any friends to support him, and then you really _will_ have ruined his life.

Alvin had, for once, rendered Pierre speechless. He says nothing throughout his whole speech, staring upwards at the boy ahead of him as he throws punch after punch, just trying to process what’s coming at him as curveball after curveball hits him in the face. He looks... so out of it. Every meeting they’ve had, he’s urged Alvin to sleep, but now, caught with his walls half down, he looks like he doesn’t even follow his own advice. Also sad. _Really_ sad. Then, he’s gone, out the door before he thought of a single thing to say that wasn’t _wait_ or _stop._ He wouldn’t say those. He can’t.

Except...

...maybe he has to.

A decision is presented in front of him... allow Alvin to leave and accept his defeat, or chase after him and put an irreversible crack in his facade.

...

_Pierre Thanatos is not a quitter._

Running a hand through his hair, his countenance finds equilibrium again. He doesn’t wonder how much of that the other hosts heard. He doesn’t think - he can’t.

The only word he says is "No -” as he follows Alvin out of the room at a feverish pace.

At first, he doesn’t speak. Shouting after him is something that will bleed through into the club room, and chasing him is already excruciating enough. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t raise his voice a tad when he’s ten or fifteen feet behind Alvin.

“Listen,” For once, he doesn’t sound reserved and unbothered, and - his voice is... what?

This word is... weird. It’s in English, for starters, now the third language Alvin has heard him speak, but it’s not in a Japanese accent. It sounds like _liz-sON,_ almost French, but... not quite. It’s strange to say aloud, but it almost sounds... Hawaiian? Caribbean? Something... tropical like that. Moving past the pronunciation, Pierre’s voice is... choked up. His breath is all around it, thick and abnormal - almost like he’s near a panic attack.

He forces himself to calm long enough to continue in Japanese, resisting the urge to slip into Haitian or French. This frazzled, he’d kill to speak something he doesn’t have to think so much about.

“Listen. Allow me a moment to speak.”

Pierre sounds like he needed to first allow himself to have a moment to breathe before he could have a moment to speak... which he does.

After his second very deep breath, he says, sounding almost rushed as if speaking directly and honestly was so frightening that he had to do it fast or else he'd change his mind and chicken out, “The Host Club isn’t entirely a place for women to enjoy themselves. It doubles as a beard for the queer men of the school, to protect their identities and provide a space for them to - ...to depend on one another.”

Alvin had slowed to a stop at Pierre’s first _listen._ He hadn’t been expecting English. Or that accent, for that matter, but he didn’t know much about accents, so he didn’t question it much.

On the second _listen,_ Alvin turned halfway to look at Pierre over his shoulder, eye’s half-lidded and expectant, letting him catch his breath and say his piece before casting his judgment.

"Oh, _honey,”_ he says, the sassy, overtly feminine version of his voice that he reserved specifically for when he was exceptionally disappointed flicking on, making him sound frighteningly condescending, “I already knew _that._ I can’t imagine that I’m the only one, either, I mean, do people really walk into that music room, meet your little _team,_ and say, _oh, yea, this seems heterosexual_?”

He lifts his chin, and the voice fades into his natural monotonous drone.

"I appreciate you trying to, for the first time, _communicate,_ but that’s _not_ the honesty I’m looking for, and you know it.”

He turns fully and steps towards Pierre, aware that the other student’s height gave him an advantage and deciding to offset that by doing a harsh lean in towards Pierre’s chest, like a bull preparing to charge, his face angled upwards.

"A space for _them_ to depend on one another? Or a space for _you_ to depend on _them?”_ He says, slowly. The phrasing seemed minor in difference, but the emphasis changed everything. He wasn’t only demanding honesty from Pierre, he was demanding personal vulnerability, the same vulnerability that Pierre seemed to expect from Alvin himself. Quid pro quo, of course. In fact, it sounded like he already knew the answer, but needed Pierre to admit it if they were ever to move forward. He needed Pierre to admit that he wasn't just a person, but... a _kid._ A student, just like Alvin, torn between wanting somewhere to belong and fearing the possibility that neither of them would ever really belong... anywhere.

Pierre stares downwards at Alvin, quietly wondering how this scrawny boy could manage to mess with his head this much.

He’s quiet again. There are no comebacks, no snarky little remarks or shutdowns. Exhaustion is in his shoulders, and his brows, and those glaciers surrounding his pupils. He looks less like a shadow king, and more like a boy. A seventeen year old. That’s what he is, huh? How did Alvin know...?

The mask doesn’t fit all the way back on, this time, and it still isn't snug, when he replies, “...both.”

A muscle in his jawbone flexes, then relaxes.

“It’s a... symbiotic relationship, of sorts.”

Side note, the authors did not intend for _symbiotic relationships_ to be a theme in this story. They hadn't expected to repeat that term so often, but... perhaps it was always meant to be that way. Perhaps it plays such a significant role for a reason.

Alvin’s gaze narrows, and he straightens his back, taking another tentative step forward.

That would suffice. At least, it would for now.

Poor Pierre... he wasn’t accustomed to having the tables turn on him. If he wanted Alvin’s presence in the club so badly, he was going to have to get used to that. And if he ever wanted anything to blossom between him and Zacharie, he was going to have to recognize having his expectations flipped on their heads as the new normal. You don’t get to be a submissive partner and _also_ have all the power. Things just don’t work like that. Hell, you don’t get to be _any_ kind of partner and also have all the power.

Pierre was going to have to learn how to be a team player - and that was not accomplished by shutting everyone out and convincing them you don’t care.

“And you... thought I’d benefit from this... _symbiotic relationship?”_ Alvin murmurs, coolly, obviously still trying to ascertain exactly why Pierre was so adamant about _him_ joining the club, and upon his confirmation, he continues with a huff, turning his head to look out the hall window, “Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning? I mean... god, if you’d just been a little _nice_ to me... I wouldn’t have even cared about the whole kidnapping thing if you’d just been, like, a _person_ to me when we met. I mean I know I’m a difficult guy, and sometimes dragging me around really is the only way to get me to do shit, so I would have forgiven it if you hadn’t just immediately treated me like dirt. And then you _kept_ treating me like dirt. What’s _symbiotic_ about that?”

The silence from earlier resumes at Alvin’s next round of questions. He has no idea how to respond to that - saying _you are exactly right_ is painful for him, but he can’t not answer...

“I had assumed that Zacharie would take over things so that I could step back and keep my mouth shut, but it didn’t work out like that... instead, everyone saw you as _my_ project, and kept associating you with me, and... I suppose I got wrapped up in it, too, as before long I was... viewing you that way myself, even though that had never been my intention... I’m an ideas man, certainly not a... shining leader, like Zacharie, or even someone half as skilled at handling people as he is.”

All of this is true, and excellent evidence pointing towards Pierre's infatuation with Zacharie, but it doesn’t really aid Pierre's point. He realizes that, fortunately.

Now, what to do... well...

Pierre extends his hand, offering it for Alvin to shake.

“Pierre Thanatos.” 

Alvin had mentioned that if they'd just treated him like a person from the beginning, everything would have gone so much smoother. So... how about a _new_ beginning?

“...I’m... a third year at this school, and Vice President of the host club. I would... appreciate it if you joined our symbiosis. If you do, I will... renegotiate Zacharie’s position in guiding you, as well as work on my own... idiosyncrasies. ...you will be apart of the team, and I will not treat you like _dirt,_ as you put it, so long as you don’t treat me, or anyone else, like that first.”

He’s still clearly not doing too well. While he regains his utilization of larger vocabulary words and phrases, there are plenty of pauses where he almost chokes on his own breath.

He’s... realizing a grave error he’d made that morning. One of the anxiety disorders he’d been diagnosed with is a panic disorder. This causes him to slip into panic attacks like the one he’s been on the edge of for the last few minutes at inopportune times for little to no reason. He’s medicated for it, along with his GAD and social anxiety, something that numbs the hysteria into more of... nothing. His choices, for the time being, are either having random panic attacks at any time and being a wreck of emotion and fear - or... nothing. Numbness. Coldness.

He’d take the numbness any day. He can work with numbness.

This was... not that.

So that error he'd just recognized?

He must have forgotten to take his meds this morning. He’s a bit unstable, and he’s choking on words every once and a while. This is due to trying to speak too quickly to get them out, which requires him to stop and adjust - which only takes longer. Alvin might wonder if he’s okay... or if anyone spreading the rumors about his perfection or his glacial nature have seen him like this.

“Is... that alright?” He finally finishes, swallowing his nerves to the best of his ability.

Alvin still didn’t want to join this club. It really wasn’t his scene, and he didn’t have the time... and he still firmly believed that he didn’t owe them a cent.

But Pierre was clearly trying so hard now, and Vin was worried that if he didn’t at least give it a chance, this star in front of him would fall and crash and splinter.

He recognized the slight tremor in his hands, the unsteadiness. Alvin didn’t have an anxiety disorder, per se, but he did suffer with sensory overload once in a while, and his reactions tended to be similar.

He stares at Pierre’s shaking hand, and then takes it, wordlessly, grasping it and backpedaling to draw Pierre towards the men’s room around the corner. Pierre tenses when Alvin touches him, but doesn’t resist as he starts pulling him. Entering the bathroom causes him to raise an eyebrow and mutter, “Moving rather fast, aren't we...?”

But let’s face it... he‘s so choked up, he barely even gets the words out, and the joke certainly doesn’t hit its mark. Alvin doesn't even bat an eyelash, nor does he let go until they are standing in front of a sink, where he flicks the faucet on and leans back against one of the stalls, digging around aimlessly in his bag to give Pierre a moment to catch his breath and ground himself in the cold water without being stared at.

Embarrassment doesn’t begin to depict how Pierre feels. He’s ashamed; petrified; self destructive - ...and... grateful. He needed this. It was good of Alvin to do this for him... he didn’t... have to. Especially after everything they'd put him through. Messily, Pierre ties his hair up and back, removes his glasses, then starts splashing water in his face. His breathing gets loud as he gasps and splutters due to the cold, but it helps. Immensely. Not only does he feel more stable, but he feels more alive and less like a half-present, foggy version of himself. Eventually, he raises his head to stare at himself in the mirror, watching blurry water droplets fall from his face.

Alvin was silent that whole time, his expression blank, despite the rush of anxiety when he finally noticed the emptiness in his blazer’s inside pocket. If Pierre were wearing his glasses, he’d see Alvin patting the jacket and then diving back into the backpack with a little more urgency. That box cutter must have been important. But Alvin tried to let it go. Now was not the time.

When Pierre was done and the water was shut off, he pleaded with Alvin, saying, “Please... do not mention this. Not a word. I forgot to take my meds today - it’s not an excuse, I assure you, but it’s a fact. It’s why I’m so... unhinged... at the moment. I-“

“-I’ll give it a chance. But you have to understand that I’m not kidding when I say this isn’t my scene. I wasn’t just saying that to get out of it. I mean, I like to flirt, but not with girls. And... talking in general, ugh. I genuinely really suck at this, and I always have.”

Alvin hadn't really meant to shut Pierre down in the middle of his explanation, but he figured he didn't need to hear any more anyway. Pierre clearly didn't even want to discuss it, and for once, Alvin could understand and respect his counter's desire for privacy. Besides... surely, Alvin finally agreeing to cooperate, even at the most basic level, would put a little light back into Pierre's eyes. Vin figured that was worth interrupting him.

And Alvin's calculations had, as usual, been correct. After all, he _was_ surprisingly good at math. As Alvin’s words hit his ears, Pierre's apologetic nature vanishes, and he’s back to being smooth and thoughtful. Professor Thanatos. A swift recovery, courtesy of Alvin's quick thinking.

“There are many different ways that even you can succeed as a host - you do not have to be gregarious or upbeat like Zacharie. Silent, broody types are well sought after, I assure you, especially in our club. I wasn't lying about our severe lack of Bad Boy types... If we work on your actions, perhaps you wouldn’t have to say hardly anything at all...”

He doesn’t go on, too busy thinking about ways to make Alvin a star.

Alvin, on the other hand, still wasn’t convinced. He figured that once he actually started trying, he’d do just as poorly as when he wasn’t trying at all, and Pierre and Zacharie and everyone waiting back in that Music Room would finally realize he wasn’t cut out for it and put him on... cleaning duty, or something. But this time, he wasn’t totally looking forward to letting everyone down. Partially because it would come after he (presumably) made a fool of himself when he really was making an effort for once. Of course, he wouldn't be _devastated,_ but he'd certainly be far more embarrassed than when he'd been wrecking everything intentionally.

“Whatever, man. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high,” he says with a shrug, pushing off the stall door and swinging his backpack onto his shoulders.

He runs his gaze up and down Pierre’s form, studying his face, his posture.

"Don’t worry,” he eventually continues, “I won’t say anything. I don’t kiss and tell. I mean, I think you _should_ tell your friends in there. They’re terrified of you, but they care about you, and I think they’d want to know... but that’s up to you. Not my business.”

Pierre takes some time to get himself back up to code. He lets his hair back down and fluffs it up a bit, and reaches into his pocket, to pull out a tube of concealer. Pierre has perfect skin, doesn't he? If Alvin were to look closely, he’d see freckles on Pierre’s cheeks. Percy and Orion both have them, but he’s never seen them on Pierre before. They looked nice - freckles always do, even if society doesn't always agree, but Pierre seems to hold the opinion that they are somehow unfit for his image, and he gets right to work at hiding them, not stopping until they’re completely unnoticeable, before stowing the makeup away again.

“Hm...” Is all he says in reply to Alvin urging him to open up to the rest of the club. He’s not going to tell them, and if we're being honest, they both know it.

“Alright,” The Shadow King says, finally satisfied, “Let’s return before they send out a search party, shall we?”

Alvin had been watching Pierre’s makeup application process, lost in thought and silently critiquing it and considering offering tips and suggesting products. A full coverage foundation would produce a more even result, and be lighter on the skin than caking on thick concealer across the cheekbones and nose, although it was possible that Pierre typically wore something like that and just wasn’t carrying it with him... not everybody drags around their entire makeup and skin care collection with them everywhere they go...

Pierre’s invitation to leave snaps Alvin out of his thoughts.

“Oh,” he muttered, realizing he had to go back in there now, “Right. Quick question, what _do_ you want me to say? I don’t think anyone will believe that you just... reasoned me into being a _little_ less of an ass. But I’m sure you don’t want me telling them the truth... that I wouldn’t cooperate until you were real with me.”

Right, what _were_ they going to say...?

Pierre had just had a full-on breakdown and revealed to Alvin things about himself that he doesn’t just tell anyone, but one fact still and will always stand: he’s an overdramatic little fuck.

“You’re right, yes, but our solution is quite easy - you will say I made you a new offer, one you could not refuse. No more, no less.”

With how he conducts himself, they’ll believe that. It’s vague, which is very Pierre. Maybe it was a threat, maybe it was a bribe, maybe it was just being very persuasive. Who knows?

“Shall we?” Somehow, even after all that, he suddenly sounds... surprisingly pleasant. Like nothing had transpired.

Alvin rinsed his hands off in the sink, instinctively, flicking the excess water off his fingers to run down the drain as he shrugs and goes to open the bathroom door, saying, “Sure. Just for the record, that, uh, _explanation_ coming from _my_ mouth is gonna sound frighteningly sexual. Just so you aren’t surprised by that, you know...”

At this, Pierre laughs. Well... sort of? It’s definitely a laugh, but it’s only a few breaths long, and it’s more like an evil chuckle. Like Alvin, Pierre doesn’t really smile very much, and he laughs even less. An enormous rarity is getting him to laugh, and laugh hard. Out of all the hosts, only two have managed to see him do that - Zacharie, and his own brother.

“I can handle that,” He replies, darkly.

Alvin doesn’t bother holding the door for Pierre as he walks back out, some part of his mind still occupied with thoughts of his box cutter. When Pierre eventually joins him in the hall, he converses, casually, “By the way, about that jacket. I’ll wear the name tag, I don’t really care, but red’s really not my color. Looks bad with my hair. I’m sure you don’t want your new eye candy in anything unflattering.”

One of Pierre's immaculate brows raises. He had picked the color in order to mess with him a bit - only intending on using it if he felt he had traversed too far. But... they’ve agreed to work towards a less destructive partnership, so it’s not exactly necessary anymore.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking, as usual, “Come along now.”

Gently, he reaches out and wraps his hand around Alvin’s wrist. A few seconds are given for him to become accustomed with that, and to see if it freaks him out, before Pierre heads back down the corridor. He’s dragging Vin behind him now, similar to how he himself had been dragged only minutes earlier. He’s moving carefully, sure to not do anything to jostle the other boy too much, but it probably doesn’t look like he cares about his wellbeing with how fast he’s walking. Long legs. He holds the power now. Alvin has already seen that, even in dual partnerships, he always seems to be holding the strings, or at least appearing to. When the other hosts see him, they’ll see him escorting, and therefore doubt that what communications they had just had with one another involved him slipping into a panic. He’s always working to preserve his image.

“You know,” he mutters when Pierre attaches himself, “this isn’t necessary, I’m not going to try to split this time...”

Alvin had to pick up the pace just a little to keep up with Pierre and avoid tripping over his own feet. His mind started aimlessly drifting down cursed paths, in this case, the thought of how Pierre, who must feel so in control right now, would be completely out of his depth were he and Alvin to ever actually hook up. These thoughts had distracted him long enough to fall behind a little, causing Pierre’s grasp to rub against his wrist and chafe some... recent injuries. With a hiss of pain, Alvin reacted (poorly) by wrenching his arm out of Pierre’s hand and stumbling to a stop in the hallway to cradle it against his chest, gingerly peeking down his sleeve to make sure he hadn’t loosened any of his bandaids. The force it took to free the wrist had created yet more friction and the wounds stung so much more now.

"Fuck,” he mutters under his breath in English, grimacing as he carefully smoothed the sleeve down over his forearm, before realizing that Pierre was listening and switching back to Japanese, clumsily lying to cover up his reasoning for his disobedience this time, “S-sorry, it was just too tight, knee-jerk reaction...”

Pierre had never seen such blatant indications of self-harm on someone else. If he hadn't been determined to help Alvin before, he certainly was now.

"Okay..." this time, Pierre takes his hand on the other arm, and is much gentler than before, "I didn't mean to do that, I apologize. I've always been told I have a strong grip."

He continues to lead Alvin down and into the club room, weary and afraid on the inside. Alvin really didn’t know what Pierre’s goal was by leading him around like this, but he didn’t ask any more questions, and he didn’t resist. He had no fresh cuts on his right arm, purely due to convenience and being right-handed, so Pierre wasn’t hurting him anymore. Alvin kept the other arm tucked against his chest, though, instinctively protecting his weak points, as they finished the trek back to the club room.

When they stepped back in, everything appeared normal. Zacharie had ordered the hosts that remained to not pry into Pierre and Alvin’s business and finish setting up for the day, and now everyone but him was seated at their tables. Zacharie himself was at the grand piano, tuning it.

He must have been really worried about Pierre. Pianos only needed to be tuned twice a year, at max - and Zacharie had tuned it to perfection only three and a half weeks ago. He must be busying himself to deal with his nerves. When the doors opened, his gaze shot up and he closed the piano to approach Pierre and Alvin, trying not to appear too eager, “You caught him... good work. At this rate we might actually need to get a leash for him.”

"Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Alvin says, automatically, arm dangling limply in Pierre’s grasp.

The anxiety in Pierre's stomach lessened for a second at the realization that Zacharie had worried about him. It replaced itself with a insurgence of butterflies. They tapered off expeditiously, but still...

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" He requests, in lieu of an explanation, "I still have some preparations to complete before we open our doors, and I would prefer to not be interrupted again."

It's curt, and all business, except... when Pierre lets go of Alvin's hand, he raises his arm to squeeze Zacharie's shoulder. It's a rarity that he reciprocates this touch charade they have going on...

That settled, he gaits back to his corner. Sitting down, he drains the rest of his now-cold teacup, then pours himself another with the nearby pot. He's so tired... just a few more hours.

Zacharie seems startled by the touch, and for a second, he’s thrown off his game of pretending Pierre doesn’t take his breath away - a game he only plays to keep any awkward discomfort that that kind of knowledge would cause Pierre at bay - and looks quickly at the hand on his shoulder, then up at Pierre, watching him retreat, his cheeks warming up.

“Of course,” Zacharie finally calls, shaking off his surprise and turning to face Alvin, who met him with a wide, cool, knowing grin. Those half-lidded brown eyes of his were screaming _you fucking homosexual little twink_ at Zacharie.

Zacharie ignored this. He didn’t care if Alvin knew how deeply gone over Pierre he was. The only person who could never know was Pierre himself.

"Here, Alvin, while Pierre is finishing up his little errands, I’d like to get your measurements,” Zacharie suggests, just looking for something to occupy their time, “Pierre probably has some record of them somewhere, but just in case, I think we should have our own set.”

"Why do you need my measurements...?” Alvin mutters, raising an eyebrow.

"We have themed days,” Zacharie explains, ushering a flustered and confused Alvin over to his usual table and producing a tape measure from seemingly nowhere, which seemed to be Zacharie's greatest talent, “With costumes and outfits and such. We’ll need to know what sizes to order for you, or how to have clothes tailored so they fit you right. Arms up, please.”

Alvin raises his arms, frowning, “What... kinds of costumes?”

Zacharie chuckles, “Don’t worry, it’s never anything... humiliating,” but doesn’t elaborate further, causing Alvin some concern.

Over the course of the next hour, Pierre drinks something like two teapots worth of tea. It's astounding. Every time his cup is empty, he immediately goes to pour it again, and this cycle still hasn't stopped. Truth is, he's exhausted, and he's relying on caffeine to save him - not to mention, it gives him something to do with his hands. By now, he feels ready to burst from the amount of liquid in his stomach, but he ignores it. The girls are around now, and he's determined not to leave them.

Not that there are _many_ girls around for him to risk disappointing. Only three ladies are in his company today. It's a shame, usually the biggest rush is right after opening, but only the two he was doting on the other day and one of their friends sought him out, which means that later, he'll probably have no one.

Conversation is slow with him today. He seems even more apathetic than normal, despite the fact that he's genuinely trying. The issue here is simple: the girls don't want to carry the conversation, but he's way too weary to do it for them. Somehow, somewhere, they trailed onto the subject of names.

"Yes, I love my name, but I hate my middle one - it's -"

"Stop," Pierre halts her, "for your sake, my dear. According to folklore, it is an unwise decision to divulge your middle name to those in your company. If faeries or other magical creatures learn your full name, they can steal it for themselves. If you think bog standard identity theft is atrocious, you have no idea... that's actually why middle names were adopted in the first place - a secret addition to one's name to ward off evil."

The three girls are struck silent and they all stare at him, surprised to hear him speak that much, especially about a subject as whimsical as magic. He always seemed to be the most reasonable and practical host, and yet, after what he just said, after demonstrating that expertise, it almost sounded like... he believed in faeries...? ...perhaps he was just trying to be charming...

"Oh, but there are no faeries here, Pierre, I trust you," the guest murmurs, playing along.

"Well then," he replies, becoming more aware that he really should have taken his meds that morning, and that his caffeine high is only making his roller coaster of emotions less predictable, "I imagine you have never given Zacharie's magnetism too much thought then..." 

His voice drops to a whisper, looking over at the crowded host's table, "He has every making for a fae there is... careful now," He says, voice deadly serious, "or he will bewitch you into loving him."

The girls gasp, utterly enchanted.

Ah... is that how you feel, Pierre? _...bewitched?_

Is that what’s like, seated in your vantage point, angled toward Zacharie lounging on his throne, surrounded by rosy-cheeked women asking to touch his hair and his cheekbones, watching him snap his fingers and send someone else spinning with delight and desire day after day, hour after hour? Are you, too, under his spell?

Because, no matter how many lovely men, women, and others Zacharie played with, he was definitely under _your_ spell. And with you, it wasn’t a game.

Bewitched was certainly one way to put it... that could explain how mindlessly attached to Zacharie Pierre is, or why his heart picks up so much when they make eye contact... that could even be why sometimes, in order to drift off to sleep, he imagines them together, slow dancing. Zacharie’s hand on his hip, his own on Zacharie's shoulder, swaying gently... maybe Pierre would discover a stroke of daring at the ending swells of the bass, and kiss him at the final note. Being under a spell would be a... happy explanation. A simpler explanation.

But no - he only _wishes_ that were the case. Instead, the truth was... far more complicated.

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or perhaps Zacharie could hear Pierre (unlikely over the giggling and squealing), or perhaps Zacharie really was magic, but whatever the case, the moment Pierre issued his warning to his guests, Zacharie, who was cupping one beet red young lady’s face as if to kiss her, locked gazes with Pierre out of the corner of his eyes. That green in his irises was such a shocking color against his dark skin. It was always a wonder what his genetics must be.

Despite the joy of the visitors surrounding him, Zacharie always seemed just a little bit sad whenever he was looking at Pierre. This time was no different.

This is when Alvin returned. At the beginning of business hours, when Zacharie had acquired Alvin's measurements and then sent him to shadow Pierre, Pierre then immediately tasked him with a coffee run, as they discovered they were out of it. He's not a fan, personally, but he is aware that many of the people in the room, hosts and guests included, require it to perform well. It also kept him from having to handle Alvin, so it's a win/win scenario. After their heart-to-heart earlier, Pierre was in no rush to spend any more significant time around Vin... he needed a chance to catch his breath and recover. To build his walls back up, at least a little.

So now, his errand complete, Alvin, carrying a reusable grocery tote, materialized in front of Pierre’s table, blocking Zacharie from view. He sets the bag lightly on the counter, saying, “Where should I take this? I don’t know where the kitchens are or if I’m even allowed there. Should I just give it to Ares so he can take it down next time he goes to check on the cooks? Or should I just put it by the coffeemaker?”

"Silly Alvin, there is a coffeemaker up here, but not a grinder. You’ll have to take it to the kitchens first,” one of the ladies says, and despite the fact that she was sitting down, somehow, she seemed to be looking down on Alvin.

Vin gave her a mildly confused glance, but caught on a heartbeat later.

"I didn’t get whole coffee beans,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “I got normal coffee. For normal people. My mistake.”

The girl seemed a little taken aback by his bite, but Alvin had hid the insult well, as this statement could also be read as the difference between ordinary people and extraordinary people, instead of just the difference between normal people and abnormal people. It seemed that when it came down to it, Alvin _could_ filter himself, at least enough for the the more polite hosts to save the situation.

Pierre is in the middle of thinking about how Zacharie’s eyes are his exact favorite color when Alvin steps in front of him.

He looks up, unfazed.

“I take it your excursion went successfully... even if you brought back... commoner's coffee," there's judgment there, which more than validates the girl and shifts the interpretation of Alvin's words, "Show it to me."

This time, Zacharie _definitely_ overheard Pierre. He’d started paying close attention when Alvin had reappeared, purely on protective instinct. While Vin and Pierre seemed to be getting on better now than before, due to the _deal_ they had apparently struck, Zacharie still didn’t wholly trust him to treat Pierre with the respect he deserved. He did, however, seem a little surprised and almost even offended to hear Pierre call pre-ground coffee _commoner’s coffee._

The girl gave Pierre an appreciative look for backing her up while Alvin glared at her in a weary sort of way, like her mere existence was enough to tire him out. He digs around in the tote bag and pulls out the coffee he’d purchased, setting it in front of Pierre to inspect, saying, “It’s just coffee. I can take it back if you want, I’ll take any chance I can find to get out of here.”

“Ooh, you got the good brand!” Zacharie says from where he was now on his tip-toes, peering over Alvin’s shoulder, causing Vin to squeak and stumble aside.

“Where the _hell_ did you come from?” Vin demanded, sounding out of breath, his heart racing from the jump scare. Zacharie ignored this question. He couldn’t answer it, after all. Not truthfully or completely, anyhow.

He picks up the bag of coffee that Alvin had bought, inspecting the packaging, “This is the best quality instant coffee on the market.”

“Zacharie, you... drink that... stuff?” One of Pierre’s ladies asked, trying to reconcile the image of elegant, wealthy, princely Zacharie Fuetez drinking what everyone would now forever refer to as _commoner’s coffee._ A man like him should only be drinking pure, liquid gold.

“Well, yes,” Zacharie nods, opening up the package with nimble fingers, “I live alone, and I am on... well, you could say I’m on a sort of... allowance. So, to avoid having to get a job, I look for every opportunity to save money. Ground coffee, if made properly, can be just as good as grinding it yourself... faster and cheaper, too, of course. And this just so happens to be my favorite brand.“

He gets the bag opened wide enough to poke his nose inside a little, a satisfied, warm smile spreading across his face. Some of his guests had risen from their seats to come watch, and they all gasped with delight at the appearance of his dimples.

“Not to mention,” he murmurs, “it always smells so wonderful. Here, give it a chance...”

Pierre had only really called it _commoner’s coffee_ to appease the girl - and to do what he’s always doing: distance himself from people. He doesn’t know too much about coffee, honestly. It’s something he’s never cared to learn much about, considering that what he knows is that he doesn’t care for the taste and that it makes him frightfully anxious. For all he knows, it _could_ be _"commoner’s coffee."_ It _could_ be shit. He doesn’t really _need_ to know. But... he did not expect _Zacharie_ to care about it this much. He did not expect Zacharie to bounce over, pure sunshine. He did not expect any of this.

Every molecule in Pierre’s body is endeared to this boy. It feels like some of his sunshine is leaking off of him - there’s too much to contain, so it’s surging into his heart while he watches Zacharie tenderly show the girls the coffee. He extends it to each of the three girls, one at a time, all of them a little hesitant, but once the fragrance hit their senses, their expressions brightened with pleased surprise. Zacharie then moves to stand near Pierre, resting a hand lightly on his back and leaning in beside his face to murmur, smiling encouragingly, “Your turn. I promise, you’ll like it.”

Interesting how something as simple as cheap instant coffee could get him to smile that brightly. The girls were captivated, equally by Zacharie’s precious, innocent, uplifting behavior and by his proximity to Pierre. If any of them were to find out that they truly were attracted to men, half would turn them into a fetish and half would be disgusted, but here, in the club room during business hours, when everything was all _"pretend,"_ they allowed themselves to indulge in the idea that the two may care for each other just a little more than your average pair of friends.

Alvin watched this all from the sidelines, eyes wide. They really knew how to make a spectacle of every tiny event, didn’t they?

When Pierre did give the coffee a whiff, he was startled by how familiar it was. He must have smelled it somewhere before.

Oh... oh no.

Zacharie must drink a lot of this stuff, because Pierre would realize that he bore the exact same scent.

Shit - your sense of smell is the one most deeply tied to memory. Now, every time Pierre smelled coffee, he’d think of Zacharie - his hair, his shirt, his neck... those eyes, that smile.

His dimples.

In this society, coffee is everywhere. Pierre was going to be haunted by thoughts of Zacharie wherever he went now.

As if he wasn’t already...

And now, Pierre was inches away from Zacharie as he leans in, holding the coffee bag under his nose. He is taking in that radiant smile of his, those brilliant green eyes, and awarding the girls imagining them to be together with something fascinating: a blush. One of the girls notices it and blinks, trying to figure out if she had only _imagined_ Pierre Thanatos’ cheeks heating up.

He sniffs the coffee, looking as if Zacharie were forcing him to smell a bag of dog shit, then -

Those startling eyes of his widen.

A very specific memory is playing in his head.

When he and Zacharie first met, he was new to the country and was relying on Pierre to learn more about this area and the language. Suddenly, Zacharie must have been overwhelmed with an insurgence of gratitude or excitement or _something,_ because, out of nowhere, he'd hugged Pierre. In that embrace, he remembers thinking about his scent, and how much it triggered an emotional response out of him. During those years, he didn’t really have ties to anyone aside from Percy or Orion - I mean, he still technically doesn’t, but the difference is that then, he really didn’t care. Other people were inconsequential to him - he didn’t exactly _dislike_ them, but he didn’t take an interest in them, either.

Zacharie was one of the first people outside of his family he truly took an interest in.

These thoughts, and the realization that instant coffee was likely forever going to ruin him, cause that flush of his to grow.

He looks at Zacharie, coldly.

“It’s... adequate, I suppose. It doesn’t smell as badly as I’d thought, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t make me any.”

He leans forwards and pours himself yet another cup of tea.

Pierre’s dedication to detachment meant most of his opinions sounded like this - lukewarm and uninspired. Sometimes, he expressed a very intense dislike of something, and rarely, he would express a positive perspective, but it was rarer still, in Zacharie’s experience, that those were ever even genuine. As a result, Pierre saying something was _adequate_ meant it was equally likely that he truly despised said thing, and possible (albeit not _probable)_ that he liked it _very_ much. It was so difficult to tell the difference.

Zacharie’s assumptions that Pierre hated him, however wrong they may be, caused him to always believe the worst.

All this is to say, when Pierre called the coffee’s scent _adequate,_ Zacharie’s immediate thought was that he was disgusted.

Which was a problem, because Zacharie knew that he smelled like that, too.

Did he... disgust Pierre, too...?

Of course, _adequate_ in Pierre-speak in this case meant _incredible, but I refuse to say so._ He loves the smell of the coffee - even more, he loves the smell of Zacharie. Unfortunately, there was no way for Zacharie to guess that.

That incredible smile of Zacharie's faded. The ladies, who had all been delighted by the interaction, looked like they’d been struck by lightning at the way Zacharie retreated, clutching the coffee. The sad look in his eyes was back. Pierre's heart twangs at the look on Zacharie's face - at the realization that somehow, Pierre had hurt him with that statement.

Zacharie's voice was soft as he replied, “Don’t worry. I know it’s not your style.”

He didn’t say it aloud, but he hoped one day Pierre might give it a chance anyway.

Suddenly, he rounds on Alvin, grinning like nothing was wrong, “Good work, Alvin, I think this will do just fine. Why don’t you take it over to Ares? Orion is with him, as usual, and you’re shadowing him next, so it all works out.”

Alvin seemed startled to find that Zacharie hadn’t forgotten about his presence, and then, stiffly, he nodded, taking the package of coffee, saying, “So I’m done shadowing Pierre for the day?”

"Yes, I think you’ve learned all you can from him for now,” Zacharie replies, “Go on, then. And, ladies, I think we’ve also pestered Pierre enough for one day, why don’t you all have a seat and I’ll fetch another round of tea for my next story?”

The girls seemed excited at the prospect of hearing another one of Zacharie’s travel stories, and they all rushed back to their sofas, followed leisurely by Zacharie, who, for a relatively emotional guy, was doing an excellent job at hiding his heartbreak. For Pierre, seeing him go is... bittersweet. It's impossible to _want_ to see Zacharie go, especially with the knowledge that he was upset under his carefully cultivated layers of charm, but... well, Pierre is happy that he’ll be able to breathe again. When they are apart, he doesn’t feel as much, and there’s less of a chance he’ll make a mess. 

Alvin flicks a glance at Pierre, questioning what was going on inside that enigmatic head of his, and then crossed the room, looking for Ares and Orion.

They’re across the room, with a sizable enough group around them. Orion is talking excitedly about his adoration for the animal kingdom, beaming like there was no tomorrow. Ares is seated next to him, listening carefully. His endearment establishes itself in a tender ruffle he gives to the other boy’s hair without thinking about it. The girls squeal happily, touched by his show of affection, following Orion’s pause to look at him softly and chirp, “Thank you, Ares!!”

Alvin waits until the girls are busy laughing and the boys are taking a moment out of their entertainment to let them get their gushing out of their system to announce his presence, stepping up beside Ares and clearing his throat.

“Pierre sent me to buy coffee for you guys, and they told me to bring it to you,” he states, holding the grocery tote out, the strap in the middle of his upturned palm, “I don’t know what they expect you to do with it, they didn’t tell me that much, but I assume you know, since you’re, like, the food guy.”

Ares looks up at him, warmly. “Coffee?” He peers in the bag, taking it in, “Oh, yeah, I can make that... thank you.”

He rises, taking the bag and going to the snack table’s coffeemaker to get to work. The girls, calmed from their excitement now that a new boy has arrived, are curious. One whispers to Orion, “Is Alvin joining the Host Club after all...?”

He is more than happy to chirp an answer, “Yep!! Isn’t it great??”

This girl is aware of the artist’s reputation, and wants to decline but... well, Orion was so cute. She didn’t want to let him down.

“Yes, definitely...”

Alvin appeared to share in the girl’s true opinion of his presence in the club, but he also seemed very confused on top of that. He doubted Orion had forgotten the awful things Alvin had said to him yesterday, and Alvin definitely hadn’t. Orion was either very optimistic or very forgiving or very, very good at acting like he wasn’t angry with you. Maybe a combination of all three. Regardless, Alvin had been looking forward to shadowing him the least, purely because he didn’t want to face that guilt.

Oh well. Rip the bandaid off, fast, Vinnie.

“Sit,” Orion then commands, patting the space Ares left for Alvin, “We’re talking about animals... do you have any pets?”

Orion _had_ been hurt by Alvin’s comments yesterday. He despises feeling like, thanks to his, ah, _unconventional_ heritage, interests, and visible intelligence, people automatically assume that he's less than his siblings. Percy is a brilliant musician and athlete, Pierre is Pierre, and well... sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t have any special talents at all. What _is_ he good at? Talking - but he’s not very charismatic... eating - but not cooking... stargazing - but that’s more of a hobby than a talent, and he’s not good at the math that would require any sort of careers relating to stars... looking pretty - but he’s not sure if he would like a career in fashion. He kind of feels like a dud at times. Though he loves his siblings, it’s hard to be their brother. It’s like being... Luke Hemsworth. He’s been in movies, but no one has really cared about him in any of them, and yet his brothers are _Thor_ from the _MCU_ and _Gale_ from _The Hunger Games._ That shit’s hard. Overwhelming. 

Orion knows people care about him for being himself, but.. enough people tell him to his face that he doesn’t matter as much as Percy and Pierre that it’s hard for him to believe it. So yeah, Vinnie‘s comments yesterday resurfaced those feelings, and that hurt. However... he’s learned not to dwell on it. Alvin was almost definitely looking for a weakling to tear down so he didn’t have to stay. Orion may cry easily, but he’s not weak. And he doesn’t think that Alvin is going to continue to be cruel to him. His mother doesn’t either - when he told her, (because telling your _siblings_ that your self-worth issues stem almost directly from your belief that they’re better than you is anxiety-inducing) she’d put down her work and told him, earnestly, _baby, he doesn’t mean that about you. He doesn’t have enough love in his life - whether it be from his friends, family, or himself, and he’s drowning. He wants to bring you down with him so he’s not so alone... don’t let him do that. Instead, pull him up so you’re both above water._

Then, she’d gotten this wicked grin on her face that was the spitting image of Percy’s, _and if he’s still cruel to you after that, you have my full permission to punch him in the face._

So Orion had decided, then and there, that he’s going to be kind. He’s going to give Alvin a chance.

Alvin stares at Ares’ spot and then sinks down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of it, half because he was an awkward introvert and half because he didn’t like the idea of moving again when Ares eventually came back.

“Uh...” he mutters, having not expected to be included in the conversation so soon, biting back the urge to say that he didn’t have any pets because he kind of _was_ a pet, “No, I don’t... have any pets. I’m not really an animal person.”

“You’re not really a _people_ person, either, though, are you, Alvin?” One of the ladies asks, curtly, although she seemed to be truly interested in what Alvin had to say about this. Perhaps she was one of the girls who looked forward to having a spicier option on the menu here at the host club.

Alvin didn’t quite meet her gaze when speaking to her, joking, “Damn, what gave it away?”

The girl smiled slyly, mirthfully, enjoying his sense of humor, which took Alvin by surprise, but he didn’t question it.

“I just don’t... get along with other living things, I suppose,” he explains, quietly, as if he couldn’t care less, but the way he was fidgeting with his sleeve told a slightly different story.

“You might be like a dad," Orion says, much to the befuddlement of his audience, so he quickly clarified, continuing, “You know, that dad thing, where he says he hates animals and doesn’t want them, but then his kid brings one home and suddenly they’re bonded for life. Or maybe you don’t like dogs and cats, but you like... weirder animals. That’s okay, too. I really like reptiles.”

A couple of the girls appear affronted by this.

“But aren’t reptiles like... frogs, Orion?” Her nose is scrunched up in disgust.

“No, frogs are amphibians, but they’re cool too,” struck by inspiration, he turns to Alvin and makes a mental note, “Maybe you _could_ be a frog person... anyway, reptiles are like lizards and turtles and stuff like that.”

Orion’s not a genius, but he does have common sense. Saying the word _snake_ in this room would be murder, so even though they’re a large part of the reptile class, (and animals he loves) he leaves them out.

“You like... turtles?” Another girl asks, seeming more amused than grossed out at this point.

“And lizards, yeah. They may not be fuzzy, but they’re really interesting! Like... uh, how much do you guys know about chameleons?”

Some of the girls seem completely bewildered at the mention of this animal, but a few are aware of what it is.

“They change color to camouflage against predators, right?”

“You’re half right. Chameleons do change color, but it’s not just for camouflage, it’s also to reflect their moods! Your average cat can’t do that,” He’s clinging to Usa-Chan, a true mark of his excitement. Sighing yearningly, he continues, “I sure wish I could do that.” He smiles, sweetly, “If I could, you ladies wouldn’t ever be able to doubt how much I love you.”

Thrown off by the suddenness of the flirt, some of the guests gasp. Many blush.

“Oh Orion, you’re so sweet!”

Alvin let the conversation continue without him, taken by surprise when Orion addresses him again, when he first brought up reptiles, and he was about to answer, starting his sentence with, “Uh-“ but then the dunce of a woman asking about frogs cut him off. Frogs are amphibians, that’s like... elementary school level science. But he doesn’t say this aloud. Even if he _wanted_ to make some random girl feel stupid, he couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

But that was fine with him. He didn’t really _want_ to talk.

Alvin tried actively not to cringe when Orion dropped a chameleon-themed line and the girls ate it up like hungry koi in the pond at your local plant nursery, but he couldn’t help but purse his lips and subtly roll his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to learn from Orion. Extra cutesy and sweet, chatty and talkative, random topics out of nowhere for the sake of conversation - god, Alvin could _not_ do that. Any of that.

“Hey, Alvin?” Ares calls, from the coffeemaker, “Can you come here a sec?”

Vin wondered if he was allowed to leave Orion’s side while he was expected to be shadowing him, but he presumed it was only going to be a few minutes anyway, so he awkwardly stood back up and walked over to Ares.

"Its just ground coffee,” he says when he gets close enough for his quiet, perpetually sarcastic voice to be heard, “I know it’s confusing that it isn’t whole beans, but us broke assholes still need caffeine, so we make do. Blew the goddamn minds of everyone on that side of the room...” He had assumed that Ares was going to pull the same oblivious rich person bullshit, and decided to skip waiting for him to question the _“commoner’s coffee”_ and get straight to the weary, cold explanation.

Ares listens to the condescension, and looks over at the other half of the room when it is mentioned.

“Maybe some people aren’t familiar with it here, but I am,” He says, gently, “It’s nearly done brewing... I just thought I’d call you over here because you looked uncomfortable. Oh, you know what you could do -”

Chuckling, a flush rises to his cheeks, “Ignore me, dear, that’s a silly idea...”

Alvin carries through with that sarcastic, biting tone, leaning against the refreshments table and eyeing Ares rosy freckled face, “What’s a silly idea? Me being able to do something?”

It was hard to tell if that was accusatory or self-deprecating. Maybe it was both. Naturally, Alvin agreed with the sentiment, but at the same time, it didn’t mean he wanted to hear it - even if he knew very well that that’s not at all what Ares meant.

Ares’ eyes widen. He looks struck by that - mortified that he might have made him think anything around those lines.

“No, no, Alvin. I didn’t mean that at all, you’re v-very... capable...”

He looks at the table - more particularly, an empty space next to the coffeemaker, then instructs, abruptly, “...sit up there, please?”

A little bit of context for this request... once, Pierre sat on the table as he surveyed the many turning cogs of the host club, in such a regal pose that - well. Ares isn’t attracted to Pierre, but that look - that was hot. The girls agreed, they were breathless over him for a while. He figures if he gets Alvin to do something like that, combined with his quiet nature, it would be very appealing. Ares wanted to teach Alvin that Hosting could be in the little things. It's not all about conversation... it could be in your mannerisms or your eye contact or your body language as you lounged on a table.

“I know it sounds weird, but you look light enough to do it, so...” He grins, cheekily.

Alvin’s mouth didn’t move a lot. It was always turned a little downwards, and his eyes had this very sharp, judgmental look about them. The American term for this was _RBF_ \- resting bitch face. As a result, all of his expression came from his eyebrows. Those drawn-on brows of his were working overtime right now to convey his dubiousness. The way he stuck his neck out a little and sort of cocked his head just screamed _"you want me to_ what _?"_ as if he was still processing what Ares had said.

When he spoke, it was slow, like he was trying to be certain he’d heard the young chef right.

“You want me to... _sit..._ on a... table...?” He asks, truly baffled, “I don’t see what’s... _silly..._ about that. Or what's... _anything_ about that... or what exactly you’re... looking for here... in the first place...”

He, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine why someone would ask him to do such a thing. Well, at least, he couldn’t think of a reason that might occur in public...

“Sorry,” he mutters, not sorry, but turning and hopping up to perch on the edge of the counter anyway, “I’m just used to people ordering me to get on the floor, instead, so... this is a new one...”

It’s a known fact that gay people don’t sit right. That meant that Alvin didn’t just hang out with his legs dangling.

You know... cause he's gay.

So, without even thinking about it, he braced his right heel on the table and left the other foot down, leaning forward just a bit to drape his arm over his knee, staring sidelong at Ares. With those big round accessory glasses and his curled purple bowl cut, he looked like a model for some Asian street fashion magazine. It wasn’t necessarily breathtakingly sexy, at least not universally, but it _was_ objectively flattering. But Alvin still didn’t know what was going on here.

“This what you wanted? You happy? Cause I’m still not seeing the object,” he grumbles. Cranky boy.

Fuck, that was perfect. Perfect. That's exactly what it was. And attractive, at least in Ares' opinion. When men give Ares the vibe that Alvin was radiating now, it's like.... how Dementors cause parts of your happiness to be swiped away when they passed, except instead, its his common sense. Turning back to the coffeemaker, he says, conclusively, "That's just it, thank you."

The pot finishes, and Ares turns to call to the girls, "How many of you want coffee..?"

A sizable portion of them do, enough to where Ares would have to take a few trips in order to serve all of them. Instead, he follows up with, "Alright, darlings, if you do, please join me over here."

Those who had signaled rise and approach the snacks table, forming a line when Ares tells them too. Alvin witnessed the spectacle. The first girl steps forward to get a mug, but she's stopped with a, "Hey now - what kind of business would I be running if I gave away this for free?"

She stares up at Ares, surprise evident in her bright blue eyes. She didn't have any money on hand...

"I-"

"Your payment doesn't have to be money," He tells her, kindly, "It could also be... allowing me to give you a kiss?"

An explosion of pink bursts onto her cheeks just at that, let alone when she nods and Ares takes her hand, raising it in order to kiss it. Then, she is handed her mug, and she steps away as she tries to handle the gravity of how flustered that made her. It goes on from there - Ares asking for payment from each girl, then pouring them a mug and sending them on their way. He's remarkably good at this.

Alvin had squinted at Ares’ gratitude, still totally lost, but his face went slack again when the first girl came up for her cup of coffee and went away dizzy. His expression was now the physical representation of the phrase _"ugh, puberty..."_

Of course, he still didn’t have an inkling as to his own purpose for being there, still waiting for Ares to tell him to do... literally anything else at all, until the girls started to notice him and Alvin started to notice the girls noticing him. The girls who aren't immediately in front of Ares are looking at him, instead... and it doesn't feel cruel. It feels curious.... intrigued. Drawn in, to this silent, grumpy boy. Sometimes, when a pretty face seems so unhappy, you can't help but want to know his secrets.... like Pierre had said earlier - there were ways to do this job without having to speak a word. 

Alvin's jaw tightened a bit, cheeks darkening, and he silently cursed his social insecurities, because blushing was bound to only make him stand out more.

Off campus, when he was head to toe in colorful plastic accessories, stickers, bandaids, and glitter, and usually had a full face of bright makeup to boot, he’d thrive off the strange looks he received, but here, when he had none of that to hide behind, just those round glasses that weren’t even real... he felt so exposed. So fake yet so honest. Like a child caught in a blatant lie and seconds from being punished. Outside school, he knew why he was being stared at. Inside school, he didn’t. He wasn’t in control of it anymore. Did they think he was weird? Bad? Pretty? Stupid? There was no way for him to tell, not without asking, and he didn’t want to speak.

His anxieties were clear in the way he was no longer making any eye contact with anyone. He was very, very uncomfortable.

Across the room, the twins were eyeing Alvin’s pose appreciatively. They’d thank Ares later for the pleasing mental images they had of putting the faux-tough Alvin in his proper place...

Pleased that his hunch had been correct, Ares begins to turn to Alvin to say something, but is interrupted by Orion walking up to him, standing just where the line had been.

"Can I have some?" He asks, shyly.

A charmed smile takes over Ares' cheeks, as he inquires, "You don't normally drink coffee during business hours - doesn't it make you too hyper?"

"Yea but..." Orion trails off. Their entire group is swiveled around in their seats, watching with rapt attention.

"Ah," Ares recognizes, eyes twinkling, "Let me guess... you just wanted to come and pay me?"

A gasp escapes a few of the guests as Ori nods, smiling.

"Now, now, if I knew people would be so pleased by his monetary system, I wouldn't have even bought the coffee," Ares is grinning, grinning, grinning. He's so helplessly in love with this boy, "It's bad business, after all. Your brother should teach you a thing or two about that."

Then, he kneels down and kisses Orion on the cheek. The girls squeal.

“You made me your eye candy,” Alvin grumbled when the girls were out of ear shot, sounding betrayed, brows tight, “and here I thought you were the nice one...”

Ares is.. .confused, to be honest. He can’t process why Alvin thinks it’s a bad thing to have his looks appreciated - none of these girls were going to try anything, and being looked at was much easier than having a conversation. People don’t generally check Ares out too much. He’s certainly attractive, but it really depends on someone’s preferences. He doesn’t mind, but it makes it all the nicer when people are appreciating his features. So... why does Alvin seem so upset...?

"I'm sorry," He tells him, earnestly, "I figured it would be easier to sit and look pretty than be forced to hold a conversation... that's a lot of what _I_ do around here, actually. I do talk to the girls, but a lot of the time I let Orion take the lead."

Realizing he's going a bit off topic, he reiterates, "I'm sorry, Alvin - I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

But _why_ was he so uncomfortable...? Did Alvin have... issues... with being hit on...? Trauma? What was making him so nervous...?

_I figured it would be easier to sit and look pretty than be forced to hold a conversation..._

Right. Looking pretty.

That was all Alvin had ever really been good for... looking pretty. Looking pretty in the photographs. Looking pretty next to his sister. Looking pretty on stage for choir concerts. Looking pretty in fashionable clothes. Looking pretty in makeup.

Looking pretty in a collar.

Looking pretty on his knees.

Looking pretty on his back, on his stomach, facing the wall, facing the floor.

Don’t talk, don’t argue, no one wants to hear it, and you don’t want to say it.

So just sit there and look pretty.

Alvin’s expression hardly changed, but the emotion in his eyes was completely different. Emptier. Wearier. Not like sensory overload or dissociation - more like... recognition. Recognition of his role in the world. He didn’t know what Pierre saw in him. Nobody else ever saw anything at all.

He turns away. For once his reply isn’t defiant or cold.

“Right,” he mutters, hugging his knee closer to his chest, “this... _is_ easier. Sorry.”

Ahh.. so that was it, then. Alvin _wanted_ to talk to people - to be known for far more than just being a pretty face, but... he was afraid. Something had happened to cause him to believe that he didn’t deserve to be conversed with, to be loved. Something had happened to make him believe that it was better to distance himself... even if doing so made him unhappy.

The metaphorical lightbulb clicks on in Ares’ mind.

“Don’t apologize to me,” He says, firmly, “When I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. I made assumptions... that wasn't right of me. I don’t want you to try and please me - I’m not going to make you watch your language or do things that make you unhappy. I want to talk to you - I want to get to know you. I want to help you, too, if I can.”

He makes dead eye contact for this next bit.

“I don’t think you’re just a pretty face - we’ve met like what, twice? And yet I still already know that much, so... I want you to know it too.”

Ares' demeanor towards the club's mission to pull Alvin out of isolation was entirely different from Pierre's. There’s no hiding here; his desire to help and to share love is right out in the open.

Alvin raised his eyes, betraying a mix of alarm, confusion, and lingering heartbreak across his face as he tries to figure out what Ares means - what angle he’s playing. People don’t act like this. They don’t admit their mistakes, they don’t apologize, they don’t encourage your true individuality, they don’t _actually_ try to be better. They certainly don’t do any of these things with _Alvin._ Well - Vin’s family might, but Alvin considered his parents and sister to be incredibly weird and his grandmother to be the one exception to every rule.

But everyone else, everyone _normal,_ everyone with their head screwed on straight, could all tell that Alvin’s wasn’t - pun not intended until just now - and they all made him very aware of that.

He was different. He liked different things. He thought different things.

And different, in this world, is wickedness.

So... Ares must be lying. Or expecting some reward.

He held his gaze during that last bit, lips pursed, feeling an uncomfortable flipping and squeezing and trembling sensation in his chest. He didn’t feel that sensation often, but it usually occurred when someone (almost always within his family) told him he was any semblance of important right when he was certain he wasn’t. He didn’t demand Ares give a reason for this speech. If Ares wanted something in return, eventually, he’d ask for it, and if he didn’t, if he really, really just wanted to encourage Alvin, then -

...well, that was unlikely, and on the off chance it was the truth, Alvin could burn that bridge when he got to it, but either way, questioning him would do no good.

He was quiet for a long time while he just tried to figure out how to reply. In the end, he picked what he recognized as the bitchiest, most narcissistic option.

“...so, you _are_ the nice one, after all, huh...” he murmurs.

Yes, it did seem a little bitchy, but Alvin, who didn’t really read people’s eyes, didn’t know what Ares had seen in his. To Ares, this sentence came across as something rare and illusive: Alvin’s true feelings. In this case, gratitude for his kindness after years of being shut into silence.

Ares feels an inexplicable desire to gather Alvin up and just snuggle him until the end of time. He exudes immense _you should hug me_ energy. But he refrains. Alvin hasn’t quite discovered his deep lust for physical affection yet - he’s been touched, but mainly by family members, and anyone else that’s touched him outside of his circle of relatives couldn’t really be described as “affectionate” - but even though he isn’t aware of this desire, he certainly still possesses it. So yes. You _should_ hug him. He’d adore it. He’d be so confused at first, but pretty soon, he’d be insisting that it never stopped. However, now was not the time.

The nice one, huh? Well, maybe. The more important thing to note is that the _nice one_ has realized he's not the only one here who's kind. Alvin's cat has been removed from its respective bag, and there is no way it's fitting back in.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ares replies, grinning wide.

He retrieves a strawberry Ramune from the table and offers it to Alvin, "I'd give you some coffee, but the girls took the whole pot and I'm not sure if I should make another for just the two of us... unless you like to drink like, a lot of coffee."

Alvin peers downward at the Ramune and then takes it, slowly, absently thumbing the indents in the glass around the neck of the bottle, “I usually don’t have... coffee... around this time of day... if I need caffeine to, like, finish my work or whatever, I just go straight for a Monster energy or a Bang. Like, just fuck me up, please... two dollars for a heart attack at the local convenience store... quite a steal, if you ask me...”

He peels off the plastic and pops out the little plunger to force the marble down into the bottle.

Just after taking a sip, he corrects himself, “Or, uh, like two hundred-ish yen, right? Unless it’s... cheaper or more expensive or whatever... I haven’t checked yet...”

If he could remember the exact equivalencies, he could do the sums in his head with ease. But even Alvin didn’t have those memorized... and even if he did, what kind of a convenience store is going to specifically charge _exactly_ 215 _.44_ yen for a can of Bang, only to match the pricing in America? Doesn’t make much sense. I’m getting off topic. Also, I should mention that I _don't_ have those equivalencies memorized, but I _do_ have quick access to Google.

He starts to move, then pauses, looking at Ares, saying in a lazy, sarcastic tone, “May I be dismissed?”

It was clear he planned to leave the spot either way, unless Ares said or did something extremely compelling, but he asked anyway. Pierre must have struck some doozy of a deal if it had gotten Vin to offer even these most basic of niceties.

"Oh -" Ares had been gazing at Alvin in silence, before being snapped out of his thoughts when he was addressed, and his cheeks darken as he nods, "Yea, go ahead.

Alvin nodded and glided off the desk, Ramune in hand, and he starts off towards Orion again, mainly just because he didn’t know where else to go and that was technically where he was supposed to be.

He does pause, however, glancing at the drink in his hand, and, without looking up, he says, “Thanks. ...for the soda.”

It sounded like he was thanking Ares for a lot more than just a refreshing beverage.

It seemed Ares had... I mean, I can’t believe I’m saying this either, but it seemed Ares had... earned Alvin’s respect?

Well, at the very least, Vin seemed a lot more opening to trusting and respecting Ares than others in the club. Even Zacharie still hadn’t received a lick of either of those things, and Alvin had outright claimed to like the guy. Trust and respect doesn’t come from Alvin liking you, however. It comes from being treated like a human. So far, Pierre had treated him like lesser, Zacharie had treated him like an unruly child, and the twins had treated him like a piece of meat. He hadn’t been around Orion enough yet to decide how _he_ treated him, but so far, Ares was the only one to just... be a person with Alvin.

And Alvin needed exactly that.

Right now, Ares was on the road to being Alvin’s favorite.

He peels away from the table and wanders back over to Orion’s gathering, leaning back against the window with the Ramune in his hand and the sun beating through the glass against the back of his head. He was listening, but actually trying not to disturb things. At least not right now.

“No problem,” Ares replies, pleased to hear his gratitude, then rejoins the group alongside Alvin after wiping down the table around the coffee maker to ensure he hadn't missed any stray grounds or spills. His return is far more involved than Alvin's was. Orion immediately climbs onto his lap after he retakes his seat, taking his hand and turning it to examine his palm.

“Lemme see if your lines have changed...”

“Changed?” Ares echoes, amusedly. He doesn’t elaborate, but he’s reflecting on the fact that lines on your hand probably wouldn't have changed since the last time they did this, just a few days ago.

“Yeah... if they haven’t, one of our guests hasn’t seen me read them...” He looks up, meeting the eye of the girl in question, “Akari, right?”

Akari brightens, enraptured that he remembered her name.

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool, watch closely.”

Orion leans forward, scrunching his brows as he tries to discern...

“I don’t know?”

“You don’t know?” Ares feigns shock, with a tinge of worry for extra theatrics, “What does that mean?”

“It means... I thought I knew how to read palms, but your hand is so pretty I think I forgot.”

The cool thing about when these two flirt? They really care for one another, so things like Ares’ grin are entirely genuine, no matter how silly or predictable the flirting is. It’s great for the girls - it’s hard to fake looking _that_ endeared by someone.

“Maybe I should take over the palm reading, hm?”

Orion smiles, almost embarrassed, but still certainly enjoying himself, “Okay... your turn.”

He hops up, allowing Ares to start flirting with the girls, and relocates so that he’s right next to Alvin at the window and out of Ares' way.

Alvin was supposed to be watching and learning, but he didn’t believe that any of _this_ could be learned. Orion had all this... innate cuteness. He was petite and liked sugar and snacks and had this bright, friendly personality. And Ares’ fascination with him was just as impossible to replicate, if not more. The only reason this dorky, cheesy flirting worked at all was because of their natural chemistry. They were close and they liked one another. You can’t fake that. It was adorable.

Alvin didn’t have any of that. Yes, he was pretty, and his sense of fashion - even if he didn’t wear it to school - was based entirely around bright, Kawaii streetwear, but he wasn’t cute. Or at least, he didn’t believe he was. The only times anyone, other than his mother, had ever called him _“cute,”_ it was with a sneer. It wasn’t meant to be genuine.

And he definitely didn’t have any natural chemistry. With anyone.

Speaking of... having Orion hovering by his shoulder, saying nothing but still tangibly present, made Alvin just a little uncomfortable. He still didn’t know what to make of him. But it was a good chance to bring up his instructions for the day, anyway, to make sure they were on the same page.

He stares down into the Ramune bottle.

"I don’t know if they told you, but I’m shadowing you for a little bit...” he murmurs, trying not to bother the crowd milling about Ares and showing him their hands, “...I would have said so earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you guys. I don’t know when they’ll have me switch, but for now, I’m tailing you...”

If Orion is aware that Alvin is uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He’s teetering back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Actually... is he aware of anything at all right now? He’s staring off into space, so tuned out that, were this really animated, it would be fitting to play _Cats on Mars_ over a pan of his expression.

So... what is he thinking about? Simple. He’s in his daydream world, imagining petting a dog.

He does this a lot. Animals are something he’s always loved, but with the obvious problem that they’re murder to Pierre, who is deathly allergic to their fur and dander, he doesn’t get to see them often. It’s tortuous - the more time he spends yearning, the more it hurts.

He’s mashing his face into a big St. Bernard in his mind when Alvin grabs his attention.

“Oh-! Yeah, Pierre told me last night at dinner.”

At din- oh. Right. They‘re... siblings. What a weird thought... Pierre and Orion, near opposites, Percy, their unknown, and their CEO mother, all seated down together at a meal. Pierre talking about Alvin - or at least mentioning him. So odd.

Brothers...

In the back of Alvin’s mind, somewhere, he was aware of this fact, but it was one of those things that, while real and known, it isn’t something you think about and it feels like a sudden revelation every time it’s brought to attention again. Like someone passively mentioning the fact that your tongue never quite fits comfortably in your mouth, and then, for the rest of the day, you’re thinking about it, obsessing over it, trying to ignore the desire to cut it out so it won’t plague your mind any longer. The two were so drastically different - at least, they seemed to be, so far, and considering them coming from the same gene pool was... weird. It was really, really weird. Surreal, even.

But that was okay, honestly. Alvin’s preferred styles of art were surrealism and abstractionism, so weird and trippy was his forte. So far, it was the only thing about any of this at all that _had_ been his forte.

“He said you’d stay here a little longer, ‘cause a lot of the stuff Ares and I do is done together. Same with the twins...”

Called back to the fantasy plastered to the back of his brain, Orion questions, suddenly, “Do you like dogs? Are you allergic?”

Alvin raises an eyebrow, saying, in a mildly contemptuous tone, “Allergic...? Uh... no, I’m not allergic... but I’m... not really a dog person, either... why...?”

Ah, drat. That’s it. There is no way Alvin could come back from this. Not allergic, but also not a dog person? He must be crazy. Or evil. Or dead inside. Or all three.

It’s good that Alvin didn’t mention how peculiar it is that Orion and Pierre are so closely related. The poor boy’s heard more than enough of it. Something inside of him had tensed, waiting to be questioned, to be prodded, and then... nothing. Thank god. It earned a smidgen of extra respect - that was immediately demolished when Alvin said he didn’t like dogs.

Let me repeat that.

Alvin _doesn't like dogs._

Why didn’t he like dogs? Who doesn’t like dogs? - germaphobe-y, villainous, hyper-conservative mothers, that’s who. The types who are disgusted by the sight of a dog, grimacing about the possibility of slobber and fur - and throwing a hissy fit if any managed to touch them. That, or Ransom Drysdale, the problems with which are... self-explanatory. Alvin doesn’t strike Orion as any of those things. Not that being a germaphobe is a problem on its own, but my point still stands.

So... Orion has to ask.

“Wait - why? Why not?”

Alvin pursed his lips tightly, staring into his Ramune bottle again, but this time, it was a lot more determined. He was making a facial expression akin to a child listening to mommy and daddy bicker, and then mommy whips out a killer line that knocks daddy on his ass with its poignancy and righteousness, and the child is trying not to say, _“I mean, she’s not_ wrong _...”_ for fear of being punished for taking a side.

He had a reason. He had a very clear and definite reason for disliking dogs, and the moment Orion had asked about it, it had jumped to the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back.

Something about the reason must be... controversial in some way. Maybe he had a bad experience with a dog when he was very young, and it traumatized him, but he was aware that not every dog would be like that and yet he couldn’t get over his anxiety around them anyway. Maybe he thought he’d be judged for being stuck living in that prejudice.

Maybe it was something worse. Maybe he’d been... hurt. Dogs _can_ be trained to attack, after all... and deep inside, they _are_ wild animals. They’re dangerous.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t say anything, until prompted again by Orion, in which case, he shrugs, muttering, “I don’t like being around creatures that... like... are friendly to... everyone. Uh... what’s the word... I know what I’m trying to say in English, but...”

He trails off briefly, muttering _fuck_ under his breath in English, before recognition flashes in his eyes and he says, in Japanese again, _“Unconditionally._ That’s it. I don’t get along with animals that are nice unconditionally. I don’t... understand them, it... makes me uncomfortable.”

Not understanding was an understatement. Alvin flat-out disagreed with it.

Every educated, sentient being Alvin had ever come in contact made him work for kindness and affection. Made him perform for it. Except, once again, his ever-weird family and always-exceptional grandmother. Dogs learned to trust after the first whiff. Kisses came immediately after. Then the begging for pats and belly rubs began, and before you know it, you’re on the couch, buried and trapped under a mound of warm fur, slobbering all over your face and panting directly into your nose and mouth.

And it was nice.

They just want to be close to you.

Almost no matter who you were, regardless of the things you’ve done... they wanted to be near you.

And that confused and terrified Alvin, because it challenged everything he’d ever been taught about himself.

Orion had furrowed his brow as he tried to discern what might have happened to Vin to cause him to dislike dogs. He goes through it all - being attacked, negative associations, strange phobias...

He did... not expect the actual answer to be... that.

The _Alvin-is-a-good-person_ lightbulb flickers on in an instant, illuminating Orion’s mind to the undeniable. His mother had been absolutely correct: this boy was not getting enough love. It’s so bad he doesn’t even believe he deserves it... so bad he can’t handle being around dogs because of how recklessly they give it.

Oh, dear...

Well. Alvin needs love? He’s going to get love. He’s going to get all of the goddamn love, or Orion isn’t the baddest bitch in this room.

Wordlessly, Ori slips his hand into Vin’s.

The moment Orion’s fingers tangle with his, Alvin’s gaze darts to their joined hands and his face floods with a rosy flush. It was the color of blood orange Italian soda, and just as sweet. He looked like if you brushed a knuckle against his cheek, you’d be singed.

“Actually,” Orion says, gently, “some studies show that dogs can sense bad people - or at least the qualities of some. They hold grudges, and can smell the chemicals going on in someone’s brain when they’re feeling aggressive. They trust their gut too... My point is, dogs don’t _always_ like you. I think they like you because they know you _can_ be trusted.”

He teeters a bit on his feet again, clinging to Usa-Chan.

“But I dunno! I doubt I can change your mind, and people aren’t sure yet. Think about it though, ‘kay? Pierre’s really allergic so we can’t get one, and I’m looking for people to go to a dog park with me because I wanna visit them all.”

Okay, maybe Orion has a _little_ bit of an ulterior motive here, but either way, whether he's convincing Alvin to accompany him to a dog park or not, he's still trying to spend time with him. Get close to him. Encourage and befriend him.

Pierre really _should_ have just tried kindness from the beginning, huh? If he’d let the club speak for itself... Alvin could have been feeling this safe and welcome from the very start.

He liked Orion. Fuck, he _liked_ Orion... he’d been hoping Ori would turn out to be an evil, self-serving little piece of garbage, but he wasn’t.

...or at least, he thought that for about two minutes, right up until one of the girls managed to tear her attention away from Ares long enough to notice the boys holding hands.

She stifled a gasp, eyes widening, and tugged on her friend’s sleeve. Soon, the whole group was watching, whispering, and giggling, delighting in this soft image, praising Orion for his grace.

 _Look! Cute little Orion has taken pity on the weird, mean one..._ They were saying, _...what a great guy. What a sweet boy. I’m definitely requesting him again next time._

At least, that’s what it looked and sounded like to Alvin.

All at once, his blush vanished, and he withdrew his hand. Orion only did that to make himself look better. That was the only explanation. And Alvin had been correct... unconditional love was a hoax. At least, it was among _people._ Especially people around _him._

When the girls notice how close Orion is to Alvin and start discussing it, Ori doesn’t miss a beat. He’d figured it would happen sooner or later, so he'd already come up with a cover story.

“I think Alvin’s the nice one here, actually,” He says, gently, “He’s the one who helped me out, after all. Without Ares around to hold them, they get lonely...”

Somehow - maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe it’s on command - he visibly saddens. Are his eyes glistening?

“I hope he doesn’t get too jealous, with me holding another pretty boy’s hand.”

The host in question is still chatting with the two girls closest to him, complimenting their nails and asking if he might someday get to paint them. He‘s so wrapped up in the conversation and how ecstatic they are at the idea of having this careful, dexterous boy do that for them, that he doesn’t notice the other things going on at all.

Orion’s lip quivers for a second, then stops. He’s realized something.

“I mean, I have _two_ hands... maybe.. if Ares gets jealous he can come along and hold my other one.”

What a revelation! Two boys together? Forbidden. But _three_ boys? Oh my god. The girls are deeply excited over this.

Unfortunately, Alvin was _not_ excited. From Alvin's perspective, or at least from the perspective he was forcing upon himself to retain his distance. Orion was now using the fetishization of homosexuality _and_ the fetishization of polyamory to appear even more appealing. That was very frustrating to the polyamorous, homosexual Alvin Blakeley. Of course... Alvin detected no signs of deception in Orion’s voice, so, somewhere deep down, he knew he was in denial and simply latching onto any reason to be mad and keep a wall up between him and this precious boy. This didn’t stop him, though. He crossed his arms to prevent Orion from taking his hand again.

“No offense,” he mumbles, so the girls won’t hear, “but you’re not going to use me. Find someone else.”

Ah... this guy really was messed up, huh? Not in the way Orion likely had originally thought, though. He wasn’t a dick, he wasn’t cruel. He just had... severe trust issues when it came to kindness. He’d probably been manipulated a lot in the past. His defenses now were actually a thinly veiled form of self-care. Or, more accurately, an unhealthy coping mechanism. Lashing out to ensure no one ever gets close enough to pull his strings again...

Even though Orion doesn’t personally understand when people don’t want to be touched, he respects it. He’s not a horrible creep, he’s not going to latch onto Alvin when he’s visibly uncomfortable and is attempting to evade him.

“Oh,” He says, continuing to act like absolutely nothing is going on in his brain. His tone is the exact same before - well, maybe just a touch kinder, but it’s hard to tell because Orion’s voice always sounded kind.

“Okay. You’re right,” He nods, seeming almost... impressed by Alvin. Wait - had he actually been intending to use him, as Alvin had accused?

Alvin didn’t say anything else, silently just accepting that Orion acknowledged his _“mistake”_ and moved on. Obviously, Ori hadn’t been looking to _“use”_ anyone - and it’s unclear what he meant by _“you’re right”_ but he definitely wasn’t saying that he’d been looking to _manipulate_ Alvin. Regardless, Vin was cynical and cold, and while he could respect the hustle - if you could be nice to someone and climb up in the world at the same time, Alvin understood the appeal - he just didn’t want to be a part of it. He’d rather hang out on the lowest rung of the ladder, where nobody noticed or expected anything of him. He didn’t want to be roped into any clout-garnering scheme.

Orion then explains, to the girls, “Vinnie’s really smart - he got in here as a transfer student, and he even remembered what I was telling him last night.”

The girls lean in, intrigued by the prospect of these two boys - oh so different from one another - being together the night prior. What were they doing with one another...?

“I was complaining ‘cause yesterday I didn’t hold the hands of enough ladies during the day, and last night I was really wishing I had a lady’s hand to hold! He knows the same thing will happen if I don’t take my chances.”

Dumbass. He’s god awful at flirting, but somehow that makes him incredible. The girls certainly eat it up - in a flash, both hands are being held, and one girl is clutching to his arm.

Alvin had started to blush when Orion called him smart, but kept quiet. If Ori knew how far behind he was...

Not a moment too soon... Pierre appears next to Alvin. Wasn’t he just across the room writing...? How does he move so silently? The one thing he appeared to have in common with Zacharie. They should get him a bell.

“Your time’s up for this station,” He informs him, gently, “Feel free to migrate over to the twins.”

"-holy fucking-“ Alvin blurted, in English, when Pierre materialized at his side, causing a minor heart attack, startling a few of the girls who (not speaking English) just shrugged and refocused on their boy toys.

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his heart rate to slow, before opening them again and saying, quietly, scowling, still in English, “You oughta follow up a trick like that with a goddamn _‘presto...’”_

Brat.

Pierre watches Vinnie through the corners of his eyes, struck by the utilization of English swears. He doesn’t hear those too often. ...suddenly, keeping him away from Percy seems to be imperative. She would be delighted to learn swears from a different language - especially one as popular as English. As a bit of backstory, Alvin swearing in English had been a reflex. It and Thai were sort of intertwined in his mind, fighting for dominance as his “first” language. Growing up in a bilingual home and knowing that as a young child he always preferred his mother (and of course, his grandmother) he was sure that the first words he ever spoke were in Thai, but he was learning both languages at the same time as he grew. He and his sister Elizabeth were known for randomly cutting in and out of Thai and English when they were in preschool and too young to understand that the kids around them didn’t always know what they were saying. But hey - they were in preschool. They probably didn’t know what they were saying either. Just parroting what they’d heard mommy and daddy say at home. The point is, when he’d been taken by surprise, he’d... broken character, so to speak, and reached for one of his more natural responses: an English swear.

It also served to censor himself around the guests, who spoke only the English they were taught in class, which was sure to not include the word _“fucking.”_ Pierre appreciated that, if only a little bit.

“Watch-“ He begins, and Alvin must think that he’s about to say that damned phrase again, but then instead, “for me, and it won’t be necessary. However, next time I startle you that badly I may take your advice.”

Dick.

It’s... different from before, though. This is closer to how he is with the group - he’s joking, now, even if it doesn’t seem like it thanks to that wall of ice he puts up. Maybe next time he actually _will_ say _"presto."_ That certainly fits his _"I like you but I refuse to let you know I’m kind"_ style. Glancing at his younger brother and his girl collection, he mentions, offhandedly, “There is a nail kit in the supply closet, if anyone is willing to pay for an extra expense...”

Orion gasps, along with his guests. He and Ares had discussed doing something like that, but they hadn’t bought any supplies yet - Pierre must have done it for them. If thanked, he would remark that nail care would make him more money, far more than enough to cover the initial cost of the supplies.

Alvin watches this occur, silently imagining what it would be like if he ever got to hear _Pierre Thanatos_ say “presto," before running his fingers up into his bangs to shake his hair out at the roots and then making his way, slowly, towards the twins.

He was sure that the time spent around Cedric and Lincoln would be... uh, interesting, comparative to the time spent around the other hosts, but Alvin had not expected this to manifest itself so quickly. Pierre had not interacted with Alvin almost at all during his time shadowing him. Both Ares and Orion had chosen to speak and encourage him quietly in more or less privacy. The twins did neither of these things.

As soon as they saw him coming, they announced his presence loudly to the girls that they were entertaining - “Well, look who’s come to play with us, lovelies!” - grabbing his arms and pulling him between them, a look of terror appearing suddenly on his face. Their methods of teaching were highly hands-on relative to their predecessors. They kept messing with his hair, tugging on his hands, pushing him into a chair to sit, before one at a time, they leaned down to whisper in his ear. To their audience, this appeared sultry and seductive, and all of them were transfixed by the taboo of the pair’s flirting and teasing and, later, light punishments and humiliation (both much more tame than earlier, more like friendly banter with a bite), but in reality, the boys were whispering instructions.

"This part of your day will kind of be like a vacation for you,” Lincoln murmured into Alvin’s ear, his voice sending shivers down Vin’s spine despite how casual his tone was, “we get to be openly homoerotic, it’s part of our draw, the girls just think we’re playing around. I mean... with my brother, I _am/_ just playing, but with you and the other boys, we aren’t. It makes the act and the tension real and engaging, but under the guise of being pretend... it’s safe to be yourself around us, and I don’t mean that to be sappy.”

He finished by pecking Alvin on the cheek, shocking him again, when Cedric swooped in on the other side to say, “Basically, what Linc is saying, if you want to do well here, at least with us, you’re going to just have to have a little fun...” followed up by another kiss. Alvin’s face was on fire, and he was too surprised to be angry or awkward, which seemed to delight the women, who gasped and squealed every time lips made contact with skin.

After a while of the boys’ taunts and challenges, Alvin began to fight back - at first, out of genuine frustration, but when he realized the girls liked the bickering and the twins were encouraging it, he started to feel more confident and playful. The twins' style of entertaining was naturally geared more towards Alvin’s defiant personality, so the match sort of just fell into place.

Of course, Alvin didn’t have anyone to connect with like Cedric and Lincoln had each other. He’d have to be this version of himself - the stubborn and dangerous yet playfully mischievous version - all on his own... for the benefit of women, a genus of person that he wasn’t even interested in. 

Pierre observes this display from a distance, his pen flying across his journal like the world will end if it halts for even a breath. Ares and Orion are busy now, retrieving the nail supplies for the girls and setting up. He had known that would be a good idea, being touched and massaged is lovely, especially when it goes towards self-care. Bonus points when it’s being done by a gentle man you find attractive.

The perks of this and how it's working in execution are written down, but Pierre doesn't focus on it nearly as much as he focuses on Alvin's interactions with the twins.

It's interesting and informative to observe. Here, he can be utterly himself, and the girls are eating it up - and when Pierre looks closely, it almost seems as if Alvin's having fun.

_So Alvin works best with someone to tease... He wonders if the same thing would work with Zacharie, or if he'd become too angry in a position like that with him. All three of them - Lincoln, Cedric, and Zacharie - are naturally playful, but the former two are lacking in a leadership position. They're somewhat new to this, just like Alvin... it must be easier to relax around them... hm._

That is how Pierre's left brain is conducting things. Being the dominant half by a long shot, it isn't competed against much, but...

His right brain is peeking up in the back of his subconscious, telling him something he would prefer to ignore.

A position like that is enviable. Privately, he would love to be seated there, kissed and poked and prodded while he snapped back and battled the smile from his face. He would love to have to be fighting to keep up against them...

It's not that he's attracted to _them_ in particular, of course. Neither Cedric nor Lincoln cause him to feel especially lured, but... he's touched-starved. And pining. And hormonal. Puberty...

Seeing a scene so inherently homoerotic sparks something in him, heightened by the absence of his medication. And by something, I mean a tightness in his chest, and the mental image of Zacharie kissing him like that...

...he tries desperately to ignore it.

But if I could tell Pierre one thing to encourage him, it would be this: 

There’s plenty of time for you to receive your share of teasing. Your share of bite. Your share of play.

This... dance... you’re doing with Zacharie, tentative and uncertain as it may be, will have to come to a close at some point, and if you both perform the right steps and learn to salvage your fumbles, the finale is sure to be show-stopping. You have so much joy, so much security and support, just waiting for you. The man you’re aching to love you is aching for you to love yourself - and, maybe one day, him, too. And once you both realize that... nothing is going to be able to separate you.

But in the meantime... he’ll wait.

He’ll wait, and you’ll dance.

That aside... currently, the twins were being the twins, and Alvin wasn’t afraid to speak out about how messed up the implied incest was, and the girls gasped, and the twins turned on Vin.

"Fine,” Cedric drawls, withdrawing from his brother’s embrace to step over behind Alvin, before abruptly grabbing him by his hair, fingers tangled in violet curls, and yanking his head backwards, eliciting a hiss of pain from Alvin, and he leans in, “If we can’t touch each other, we’ll just have to touch you, instead...”

The girls were holding their breath. They didn’t know how to respond. Was this still hot? ...oh. Based on the fact that Alvin had stopped talking... yes. Yes, it was still hot.

He’d been very vocal before about not being okay with certain things, but now, he was dead silent. He’d subtly lifted his feet off the ground, bracing them on the legs of the chair he was in, trying to give his pants some slack, because geez - Cedric did _not_ have to be this sexy. _Puberty..._

Anyway... Alvin didn’t want anyone to notice how much he’d enjoyed having his hair pulled. Well, the boys could, because it didn’t matter if _they_ knew, but the girls... well, if they could tell that this was real delight and not just pretend, it could be deeply problematic.

"Cedric,” Lincoln says, calmly, raising a hand, “you don’t have to be so rough with him.”

Alvin shot Linc a cold glare, as if to say, _not a good enough reason to use the word "rough."_

Begrudgingly, Cedric released Alvin’s hair, Vin sitting up and massaging the back of his neck as the (apparently harsher) twin mutters, “I mean he was _kind_ of asking for it...”

Lincoln ignores Cedric, kneeling down beside Alvin’s chair and taking his chin to angle their faces towards one another. The instant their eyes met, the breath that the girls had all collectively sucked in and held erupted into a squeal. They couldn’t contain it anymore; these boys were simply shameless.

Alvin’s cheeks were hot as Lincoln asked, carefully, “You alright, love...? My brother has a bit of a temper. I’ll be honest, it’s a bit of a relief that he didn’t use it on me this time -“ - cue a second squeal - “- but I certainly hope you didn’t get hurt. ...oh, dear... your face is all red, and while it is a delightful color, I have to ask, are you feeling well? Perhaps you have a fever?”

Before Alvin can react, Lincoln’s hand was exploring his cheeks and his forehead, pretending to take his temperature, and a few of the girls looked like they may just faint.

"Hm... you’re a little warm...” Linc states the obvious, feigning concern, “...let me get you some water.”

Alvin watched Lincoln retreat to the table to pour him a refreshment, physically unable to say anything. He might just have to answer those texts they’d been sending him... 

Alvin normally wasn’t the _“I’m subby bottom uwu baby”_ type of guy, but he was too shaken and horny to _not_ accept the glass of water in between both hands, nursing it like a shock victim in the back of a paramedic truck. Lincoln watched this behavior, affection and intrigue sparking in his gaze, wondering if Alvin was ever soft or sweet, wondering if he’d ever get to meet that side of him. Those big brown eyes of his would be lovely to see glance in your direction as you’re waking up from a snuggle nap. Lincoln hoped he’d get to experience that.

Pierre continues to watch, as was his job since Zacharie had stolen all of his guests earlier and observing their newbie was all he had to occupy his time right now, taking notes as he always did, which gave him the opportunity to realize something that could be extremely important to understanding Alvin's character... the fact that he's a kinky motherfucker. 

Pierre thought he’d seen a flash of delight in Alvin's eyes when he'd choked him earlier, but couldn’t be too sure at the time - now, his reaction to having his hair pulled makes it all the clearer.

Fascinating. It’s a good thing Pierre hasn’t spoken to Elizabeth about Alvin’s childhood yet. That story about him involuntarily moaning in the dentist’s office when the doctor jabbed him with a needle would make highly dangerous blackmail fodder. It had been pretty recent, too...

Pierre would say he doesn’t understand, but those pesky dreams of his screech otherwise...

The timer goes off a few minutes later, after Lincoln has distributed the water and Alvin has had at least a few sips of it.

Pierre pulls the same move as earlier, sliding up next to Alvin - although he does it a little less suddenly as he did the last time.

“Time is up,” He informs, trying not to draw too much attention to the fact that he'd been watching.

When Pierre approached, all three of the younger hosts turned in his direction.

“You’re stealing him? _Now?_ But we were just starting to have fun,” Cedric complains, moving to lean on Lincoln’s shoulders. The girls all muttered assent; they’d been enjoying watching the twins mess with Alvin.

Alvin grumbles, “Oh, is that what we were doing? Never would have guessed...”

Cedric and Lincoln both turned scolding scowls down towards their little toy, who had managed to get his feet under him enough to hold their gaze without withering, and then he finishes off the glass and rises to his feet, saying, “I guess its Zacharie, then, now...?” 

He obviously knew this already; he just wanted to focus on something other than how warm he’d just been.

If there is one thing Pierre is skilled at, it's delivering tough news.

"He can come back again another time," He says, unyielding, "He can't _not_ go to Zacharie's station."

In his early teens, he was petrified to go in front of his class to read a speech. He was certain he would stutter, get off topic, or forget his lines altogether under the pressure of being perceived by other people. His mother told him to pick one person and make eye contact with them. If he's speaking to only one person, the rest of the room can be virtually eliminated - and that person, whoever they are, will feel a connection with him. They'll likely think he's charming. And intelligent.

So he did, and it helped. To this day, Pierre uses that method when he's overwhelmed with public speaking - and other times, too.

Right now is one of those other times. He is not frazzled, speaking to this bunch, but he is perceptive. Making eye contact with the Shadow King is exhilarating. It's distracting. It means something.

He picks one girl, looks her dead in the eye, and continues, "Zacharie is our gracious leader - and understandably. He's the best flirt out of all of us. Now," suddenly, his eyes flick to the right and he latches onto another a girl. Then a third. Each is stunned - breathless, "I personally think that sacrificing any hope of causing our darling rookie to be more... amorous... is a poor idea." Another girl. "I mean, wouldn't it be a pity if he couldn't take care of you ladies properly...?" Finally, his eyes connect with Cedric's, "Bite back better...? I believe your guests are of taste - they expect a good show, so I suggest you take the steps to give it to them, including allowing all your toys to recharge in between sessions of play."

Cedric’s gaze flashed with poisonous desire when Pierre mentioned Alvin learning to _"bite back better."_ Internally, he was thinking about giving Alvin something more substantial to bite back on... later, perhaps.

Finished with that little performance, he focuses in on Alvin again, and says, airily, "I believe you heard me before, but yes, you're with Zacharie now. Are you ready?"

Vin sets the empty glass on the table, tucking his hands in his pockets to join Pierre at his side, his cheeks steadily cooling down. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches the gaze of one of the women who had seemed most disappointed to watch him go. There was something sharp about her...

...Alvin realized that the types of people he’d likely attract would be two very distinct groups - sweethearted, forgiving young women who saw a broken boy they wanted to fix, and hardened, HBIC women who saw a broken boy they wanted to break a little more. This girl seemed to be the latter.

Zacharie would be jealous of Alvin drawing that crowd. That was his favorite type of woman. Pierre is also incredibly fond of hardened, authoritative women. It’s not because he’s attracted to them, though - he just likes them a lot. And growing up in a house alongside Percy and his mother, how could he not?

Alvin, on the other hand, could take or leave a woman like that. He could respect it, of course, but women just weren’t the demographic he hoped to receive that kind of attention from.

No matter. At least if a girl was treating him like a worm, she’d be giving him what he deserved.

As they retreated from the twins’ station, Alvin murmured so only Pierre could hear, “For the record... I don’t need any of their help with being _amorous.”_

He smirks and winks, revealing that he meant a very different kind of amorous. A much less polite kind of amorous. Any chance to make a dirty joke, huh, Vinnie?

Pierre waltzes over to Zacharie’s table with confidence, pausing only to glance at Alvin and respond to his lewd joke.

“Oh, I’m aware. I believe you misunderstand - I was watching your little display with the twins. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to me if I found out you'd soiled yourself.”

Alvin’s cheeks darkened, and he grumbles, under his breath, “Oh, please, as if you weren’t jealous...” revealing that Pierre wasn’t the only perceptive one in the room. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was also pretty sure that Pierre craved the same treatment, but not from the twins. His tone reflected that he didn’t think Pierre was looking for attention from _them,_ but he kept his assumptions about who he believed Pierre really wanted that from to himself. It was better not to drag this conversation out too far. Pierre stares at Alvin, startled that he had been so transparent. He doesn’t refute his statement, however...

He looks forward again, clearing his throat to close the topic with, “My goal is to teach you to hold your own a little better - it’s more interesting for the girls, and certainly more fun for you. It’s a win-win scenario...”

They find Zacharie in the middle of performing sleight-of-hand for his fans. Where a boy his age learned to be so good at close-up magic tricks and still manage to be cool and attractive, no one could say with certainty. It was an excellent tactic, though. It gave him an excuse to touch the girls on their wrists, cheeks, neck - careful not to truly infringe on their personal space, but getting close enough to tease and enrapture. He’d lean in and produce a five-yen piece from behind their ears, flashing a winning smile and disappearing the treasure again, much to the girls’ intrigue and delight.

This time, he paused before leaning away, taking a second to grace the young woman’s jaw and lower lip with long, elegant fingers.

"Red looks lovely on you,” he murmurs, a playful grin growing across his face at her blush, “which is a treat, because it’s my favorite color.”

The girl can’t seem to breathe, and Zacharie withdraws to give her a chance to recover while he focuses on their visitors.

"You’ve brought our new protege, I see,” he announces, warmly, “He looks to be in better spirits than earlier, and much better than yesterday. What a relief.”

Pierre is unconsciously searching for that coffee smell again. He wishes he wouldn’t - when he finds it, it only hurts him...

“Yes, indeed,” is the shadow king’s airy response, “The twins have left an... intriguing mark on him. Good luck.”

That’s all he says before he disappears again - making himself appear aloof, protecting himself from feeling...

Zacharie watches Pierre retreat, tearing his gaze away a second sooner than he would have liked. He had to disguise his longing here, in front of the women.

He calls to Pierre, “Thank you for the delivery!” and focuses on Alvin.

Zacharie runs his eyes up and down Alvin’s body.

“Marked by the twins...? That’s a scary position to be in,” he murmurs, still uncertain about who Vin was, and Alvin just quietly allowed himself to be assessed, “Alvin, friend, why don’t you sit down? I think I’m finished with magic for a little bit...”

The girls all exclaimed protests.

"...don’t worry, there may be time for more later, but I’d like to talk with you all for a while. I’m curious about how your days went,” Zacharie calms them down with a gentle voice.

Alvin doesn’t quite sit. He just leans back against a nearby column, watching the group from a couple feet away. This wasn’t exactly defiance, though. The sofas were packed, and no one seemed keen on making room for him, aside from Zacharie himself, but he was a bit powerless to help when the girls on either side of him appeared adamant about keeping their spots.

"My day was boring and long, until you all came to keep me company,” Zacharie says, the girls smiling and sighing at his casual flattery, “Now it feels like the time is just flying by... which is a shame, of course... but enough about me. Alvin? How was your day?”

The ladies all seemed miffed that Zacharie asked Alvin first, but luckily for them, Vin didn’t appear thrilled either.

“Oh - me...? Uh... nothing special,” he replies, shortly, deciding it was best not to keep everyone waiting when Zacharie was only extending pleasantries.

Zacharie nodded, understandingly, then said, “Well, maybe we all can change that for you...”

He turns to the girl on his right.

"How about you, Miss Miyashiro?”

She stiffened at being addressed, already flustered and blushing, and says, “Oh... it was alright, I suppose... my math quiz was tough, but I think I passed.”

"Mm, I’ve never been a fan of math,” Zacharie says, endearing the girls through his relatability, “I bet you’re all much smarter than I am. I can only count to twenty-one anyway, and that’s with my clothes off...”

The ladies seemed a little startled by such a low number, until that last line, which was delivered with a coy, crooked smile, at which point they all gasped and giggled, shocked at his naughty sense of humor. Alvin rolled his eyes. Zacharie turned to his left.

"And you, Madame Omura?”

She looked like she could faint from being addressed so respectfully.

"O-oh-“ she stammers, trying to collect her thoughts, “oh, well, actually... it was a little... I-I don’t know... not so good, I guess... but it’s not a big deal, or anything.”

Zacharie’s gaze grows concerned, and he leans in just a bit, eager to comfort his guest, “What is it, my lady?”

The girl couldn’t be redder if she tried.

"Well,” she starts again, “well, there’s, um, there’s this guy... he’s been following me a lot lately... like from class to lunch... sometimes he’s waiting for me when I exit the bathroom... yesterday, he followed me all the way out to my family’s car, my driver had to ask him to leave. And today, he just wouldn’t leave me alone...”

The other girls all inhaled with horror and distaste. Zacharie’s expression shifted from concern to disgust, “That’s awful. What a creep.”

A young woman seated on the floor in front of them piped up, “I’ve seen that guy, he followed you here, too, I think he’s been following a lot of girls. He likes to act all gentlemanly but then he just follows you around and if you tell him to back off, he gets really angry...”

"Oh, that’s so scary,” says another girl, “What’s wrong with him?”

Zacharie shakes his head, “Some people just think they can have whatever they want because nobody’s ever told them _no_ before... Miss Omura, I’m so sorry this has been happening to you. Would you like one of the hosts to escort you to your family’s car this afternoon? Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re safe here on campus, but if taking that precaution will give you courage, I’m sure any one - or two - of us will be happy to oblige.”

The other girls cry out in a chorus of “oh, what? No fair!” but Zacharie ignores them until he hears Omura-san’s reply.

"Oh... that would be... really nice, thank you,” she says, overwhelmed with appreciation, “Could the twins do it...? I think two strong friends would feel safer than just one.”

Zacharie nods and then gives her hand a careful, encouraging squeeze, “Of course.“

He turns to the rest of the crowd, all miffed that they don’t get an escort.

"Ladies, please understand,” he says, “these are extenuating circumstances. If we could walk you all safely home every day, we would... but rest assured, I’ll speak to the headmaster and have this situation dealt with, and I pray we won’t ever have to take these precautions again.”

The ladies were all disappointed, but they understood, and they nodded to demonstrate as such.

Suddenly, Alvin speaks.

"What’s his name?”

All eyes turn to him.

Omura-San blinks, “What?”

"This creep,” Vin says, “his name. Zacharie can’t do anything about it if we don’t know who he is. And if he’s waiting for you after school, I mean, I got time, I might go have some words with him myself.”

Omura-San seems too surprised to argue, and she stutters, “A-Akihito. Muraoka Akihito... he’s a second-year.”

A different young woman addresses Alvin, an intrigued smirk on her face, and she says, “Would not have taken you for the knight-in-shining-armor type...”

Alvin makes eye contact with her, which startles her in all the best ways. He has really pretty brown eyes...

"Shining armor, maybe not,” he mutters, “but I do look good on a white horse.”

Zacharie was staring intently at Alvin, and only just now did Alvin notice.

"What...?” He asks, to no response, and then, a little more urgently due to his discomfort, “What is it?”

Zacharie shakes his head, turning away, “Nothing. Just... picturing you on a white horse...”

Zacharie was not surprised that Alvin was against sexual harassment. Being rude and being disgusting are two different things - in fact, sometimes being rude is a good weapon _against_ people who are being disgusting. But hating sexual harassment and tracking down a sexual harasser to bring him to justice was also a case of two very different things, and _that’s_ what surprised him. The dedication...

Pierre keeps an eye on the conversation from his corner - a distance great enough for him to appear otherwise occupied, but not too great as to where he can’t hear even if he strains his ears. some men truly disgust him... how someone could be so disrespectful that they would not only ignore a rejection, but also go out of their way to overstep the person who rejected them’s boundaries baffles him. Thank god Zacharie and Alvin are speaking out about it... Muraoka Akihito... they will be sure to report him to the school’s officials.

Zacharie picks up the conversation, Alvin fading into the background to watch unless otherwise addressed, and talks with the girls and then performs a few more magic tricks for them up until closing time, at which point, he stood first, careful to assist every young woman to her feet and kiss their hand, offering them a personal goodbye. He saved Omura-San for last, letting the other ladies all filter out before pulling her aside and asking if she had anything else she’d like to tell them about this awful boy, such as his physical description, and even offers her a business card with his personal number scribbled on the back (which she was delighted to receive) in case of an emergency.

Zacharie disliked being in a position where it could be dangerous to share his contact info with a person in crisis, but far be it for those concerns to outweigh the priority of the girl’s safety.

He gives her, too, a kiss on the hand, and instructs her to wait by the door for the twins.

Speaking of, once most everyone was gone, Lincoln and Cedric both crept up and threw their arms about Alvin’s neck, smirking at him.

"You look good on a white horse, hm?” Lincoln hums, revealing that they’d been listening, too, and Cedric jests with a wink, “Side-saddle only, though, of course, right?“

Alvin’s cheeks darken a smidge at the implications of the joke, but before he can respond, Zacharie is in front of them.

"Miss Omura is waiting for you both,” he informs them, and they untangle themselves from Alvin, listening intently, “Walk her to her family’s car and don’t leave until they’ve fully evacuated the parking lot.”

"You got it, boss,” the boys agree in tandem, before marching over to Omura-San, each offering her an arm. Flustered, she clung to them, and they made their exit.

Zacharie rounds on Alvin.

"Were you serious?” He asks, suddenly, head tilted slightly to the side.

"...serious about what?” Vin queries.

Zacharie clarifies quickly, “Going after the boy.”

"Oh,” Alvin appeared surprised that Zacharie wasn’t aware of this, “Yea, of course. If he’s really creeping around, I’m sure I can find him on my way out. Have a chat.”

"Okay...” Zacharie is torn between respect and concern, “...don’t get into a fight...”

Alvin looks like he’s about to say that he won’t make any promises, but then Zacharie finishes, “...on campus. You’ll be suspended, if not expelled.”

"Oh, yea... right... I won’t, I’m not that stupid.”

"Well, I am,” Zacharie confesses, soberly, “so I voice the caution for my benefit, too, because if I _do_ see the son of a bitch...” He shakes his head, trying to move on, and then turns away, musing, “Anyway. I’m starting to see the potential Pierre did. You already meet the two main requirements for being a good host, the first one being a high regard for the comfort and security of our guests.”

"...and... what’s the second?”

Zacharie grins and casts a look at Vin out of the corner of his eyes, “Looking good on a white horse.”

Alvin snorts in spite of himself, then says, “So... can I go? Or, uh, is there something else?”

"Your homework assignment,” Zacharie brings up, and Alvin groans, but Zacharie ignores it, “I want you to list something you learned today from each host. Full sentences, with reasonable amount of detail explain what each lesson was and why it's important. Doesn’t have to be typed, but neat would be nice... tomorrow, you’ll bring it to me, first thing after school. I’m overseeing your apprenticeship from here on out, by the way. Pierre has far too much on his plate managing our funds and our schedules.”

Alvin sighs and then shrugs, muttering, “Sure, okay. That’s not... too bad. I mean, I suck at writing, especially in Japanese, so don’t expect anything mind-blowing, but I’ll get it done...”

"If doing it in Japanese is too daunting, you can write it in English,” Zacharie reassures Alvin, “I’m fluent in four languages.”

Alvin is silent for a moment, then says, to Zacharie’s shock as it was the first time he’d seen Alvin pay someone a genuine compliment, “You just said you were stupid, but knowing four languages doesn’t sound stupid to me.”

It was rare that Zacharie blushed anymore, at least not due to treatment from anyone other than Pierre, but this time...

...those dark cheekbones of his darkened ever more, and he smiled, gratefully.

"Ah...” he murmurs, “...you’d be the first to think that.”

Pierre doesn’t think Zacharie is stupid, either. He may think that his common sense falters at times, and that he can make dumb decisions, but not that he himself is actually unintelligent. It would be impossible to tell though, considering he calls him _moron_ all the time... thankfully, he doesn’t have to face any complicated feelings that would arise hearing Zacharie say no one believed he was smart - Pierre was on a phone call, then, informing his family’s chauffeur that he’s ready to be picked up.

Alvin doesn’t have a response to this, at least not one that would be opening up a little too fast, so he goes, “...can I... go _now?”_

Slowly, Zacharie nods, saying, “Unless the other hosts have anything else for you, you may be dismissed. You can go catch that scumbag and give him a nonviolent talking to. Or lead him off campus and your fist can have a nice conversation with his jaw. Just a tip - if you _do_ get into a fight, protect your face. That’s your money-maker now.”

A hint of an amused smirk appears on Vin’s face as he backpedals towards the door, “You mean _your_ money-maker now.”

Zacharie chuckles.

"I think you’re going to do just fine here,” he says, and Alvin turns on his heel and makes for the exit, ducking into the dressing room to grab his backpack on the way.

He’d forgotten to check it for his box cutter. He wasn’t even thinking about that now. Although, objectively and a little ironically, that _would_ be a useful thing to have when he confronted the creepy guy...

Pierre gathers the things he has spread out on his table and saunters into the dressing room after Alvin. Inside, Ares and Orion are already there. The latter seems... out of it. He’s leaning against a vanity, staring vaguely in Ares’ direction. Ares, who had been packing his bag with his back turned to Ori, notices that he’s being abnormally quiet.

“Yeah, I think that worked out pretty well - I smudged a nail here or there, but it was an easy fix and none of the girls seemed to mind... they were probably just excited that we were doing it, they probably expected us to be messier considering that we’re guys - Orion?”

He turns, taking in the other boy. Oh... he’s reaching the end of his battery.

“Hey,” His voice grows softer and a bit higher pitched as he abandons what he was doing to kneel by Ori, “tou okay?”

“Yeah,” He says, dazed, “tired...”

Alvin, as someone with depression, thought for a moment that Orion was lying. The _"oh, I’m tired"_ excuse is, like, the first trick in the book. What he doesn’t know is that it’s completely true - but the fact that he’s this tired in itself does mean something. Ori usually crashes when he’s overindulged in an emotion - whether he’s too upset, too angry, or even too joyous.

Ares thought he was happy out there, but not _that_ much, so he’s worried he missed something that could have been a trigger for him. The truth is, though, Orion really is just tired. It was a long school day, and his interactions with the girls and Alvin were exhausting, regardless of if he enjoyed them or not.

“Any particular reason...?” Ares asks.

“No - no, I’m okay.” He slowly situates himself into Ares’ lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Alvin would be surprised... there’s no way that the boy could be asleep in mere seconds, but it certainly looks like he managed it. Noticing that Vin and Pierre are in the room, Ares stands (with Orion hanging onto him, that’s a feat in itself), and says -

“Hey. Alvin - did the rest of your day go alright??” He doesn’t seem to be looking directly at him, even though he’s addressing him. That’s because he’s looking at Pierre behind him, who is mouthing a question - does Orion want to come with him? Subtly, Ares shakes his head. They’d talked about riding home together that day. Satisfied, Pierre zips up his bag, carefully shifts into it, and makes his exit.

Alvin has all of Ares’ attention, now.

“I won’t ask you to stay any longer than you have to - I know you want to get home, but I want you to know I’m here for you if you need anything, okay?”

Alvin watched Orion, bewildered but nonjudgmental, as he fussed with his backpack before swinging it up and over his shoulder, shaking his head to answer Ares, unsure why Ares would ask something like this. I mean, obviously Ares was kind, but Alvin wondered if he’d given off a vibe that he needed something. Or maybe Ares was... just that compassionate.

"I, uh, think I’m okay,” he mutters, still baffled but trying to be appreciative anyway, “but uh... thanks...”

Then, he sort of shuffled out of the dressing room, his confidence fading in and out of his behaviors as it had all day, and with that, he left, a thought lingering at the back of his mind despite how much it terrified and alarmed him to even consider...

_Maybe this whole crazy thing was... going to work out, after all._


	3. Just a Description of a Heave Ho Let's Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Most chapters are based off of episodes from the source material. This one is all original content._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I'm adapting this from an rp with a friend of mine. Our writing styles are subtly different, and we'd started this just for fun, so apologies if I miss any mistakes or if some things don't make perfect sense. I'm trying to catch all the typoes (and plot holes) as I copy, paste, organize, and revise. If you see a typo, please point it out so I can hop back in and fix it! We have written... far more than I realized we had, so I'll be a little swamped with edits for a bit. Anyway, thank you and enjoy!

It wouldn’t be long before Zacharie was due to arrive at the Thanatos household.

Dinner came first, yes, but when you’re at a club for a few hours after school, dinner happens very shortly after you arrive home for the night. It was just Emily, Percy, and Pierre for the meal, considering Orion had ditched them to eat with Ares, so they’d had griyo.

Zacharie and Pierre have done this a few times, so the schedule is simple. The club’s activities end at 5:00, then Pierre arrives home around 5:15. Dinner is around 5:45, and Zacharie arrives somewhere around 6:15-6:20. Pierre always answers the door, and they go up to a loft on the second floor where they shouldn’t be bothered. Pierre makes tea and some sort of snack to be shared between them, which he hardly ever touches, and they discuss business. That’s what they’ve always done in the past, at least. 

Zacharie followed his part of the plan to a t, only stopping off at home to change out of his uniform and organize his homework - which he always brought some of to work on while they talked, simply for the sake of time and responsibility - and then started the walk over to Pierre’s family home. Pierre didn't know that Zacharie walked there every time. He _had_ a car, and he drove it to and from school, but whenever he was visiting Pierre, he never took it with him. It got him some exercise and fresh air and it saved him money on gas - which he could then use to buy himself dinner on the street. 

Zacharie loved street food. There was something so simultaneously grounding and nostalgic about its casual convenience, about how deeply satisfying it could be, and, in Zacharie’s personal beliefs, more so than fancy, expensive food. And besides... he never joined Pierre for dinner, so he had to eat _something._ The first time he’d visited, he’d forgotten to eat first, and his stomach had growled loudly in the middle of their conversation. It was embarrassing. He'd decided not to let that happened again. So he picked up some hashimaki from a stall and ate it on his way over.

Anyway, despite Zacharie's punctuality and faithfulness to the pattern, tonight, the pattern is broken when it is Percy who opens the door. Not only that, but she opens the door after Zacharie has knocked two or three times. Pierre typically opens it after he’s knocked once - or before he’s even reached the doorstep.

When it had taken someone so long to invite him in, Zacharie had started to grow a little concerned. Even if Pierre didn’t like him, he was usually so prompt and polite. Probably didn’t want to drag the visits out longer than they had to be... so this was out of character for him.

“Hey,” Percy says, invitingly, though she sounds a touch confused by this too, “Come on in - I dunno where Pierre is... I’ll help you find him.”

Zacharie rests a hand on his messenger bag and nods, entering and meeting Percy’s gaze, “Oh... you don’t have to, if you don’t want. Would make me a little more comfortable, though, I don’t like the feeling that I’m snooping around an acquaintance’s home.”

The fact that Zacharie had been here hundreds of times and still didn’t feel like he belonged - and apparently expected this to be an indisputable fact, judging by his tone as he brought it up to Percy - and the fact that he’d been working closely with Pierre for almost two (ish?) years now but still only referred to him as acquaintance or colleague, really said a lot. Pierre would probably be so hurt to hear that, but Zacharie was only trying to respect the boundaries he felt Pierre had set. However, just because Pierre wasn't currently present didn't mean that Zacharie's turn-of-phrase went unnoticed.

_Snooping around in an acquaintance’s home..._

Percy loves her brother. We know this. He’s like, one of her favorite people ever. And he’s a genius, certifiably. 

But he’s also one of the stupidest, most stubborn boys she’s ever met.

I mean good god - Zacharie doesn’t even think they’re _friends_ because of how Pierre treats him, and yet Pierre is so in love that he’s physically in pain about it. He needs to tell him. He needs to be kind to him. He needs to treat him like someone he loves. Is it really that fucking hard?

When she speaks next, Percy sounds... angry. And tired. And sad. Yet, it’s tangibly not aimed at Zacharie. She’s fond of him and it shows - so who is she so upset with?

“You’re our _friend,_ man. You can snoop all you want. I mean, fuck, you could break in at half past three in the morning and my mum would probably just offer you some tea and a bed.”

It’s true. Emily also loves Zacharie. They all do. Zacharie stiffened a little, wondering if Percy and Pierre were in agreement on this. It didn’t... exactly... feel that way. I mean... Pierre wasn’t exactly _mean_ to Zacharie. At least not usually. He was just... distant. Cold. And so Zacharie was pretty sure that at the very least, Pierre had no interest in calling Zacharie any sort of personal title, not friend, not family, and least of all “lover,” even if he privately considered him to be one of those three things.

Anyway... at the mention of Emily, Zacharie lets out a weak huff of laughter, murmuring, “Yes, well, she does seem... forgiving.”

Oh, honey. You don’t have to be forgiven to be loved - there’s nothing to forgive in the first place. Pierre is going to be in considerable pain when Percy informs him of this later. But... will he change? ...No. Not yet. Not for a while. So what does it matter...?

Zacharie is going to continue to feel this way, and Pierre is going to continue to feel horrible about it. It’s tedious. And frustrating. Percy wishes she could just tell Zacharie that Pierre is in love with him without ruining relationships in the process.

"She _is,_ but that's not the point. She really likes you, man. So do I."

Percy doesn’t dwell on this subject long, not wanting to make Zacharie uncomfortable or get herself too enraged with Pierre, and leads him across the main lobby and up a staircase.

“He’s probably in his room - that’s where he is usually. We’ll check there first.”

Zacharie appreciatively latches onto the subject change, choosing not to question Percy's statements about Emily's thoughts towards him and trails along behind Percy, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans.

“For the sake of your evening, I hope the search stops there,” He muses, ascending the stairs at her heels, “Speaking of, how _is_ your evening? Are you up to anything special tonight?”

Pleasantries. Like a good, polite acquaintance... a foreign guest in a new home. It was going to take more than a little reassurance from Percy to convince Zacharie that he really did belong.

They reach the top of the stairs as Percy replies.

"It's good - Tobias is here, but he's passed out in my bed. He fell asleep like... twenty minutes before you came? It's actually easier to be out here right now; I know I'll wake him up if I'm in there."

Zacharie has never been to Pierre's room before, no matter how long they'd been friends. Another one of his idiosyncrasies... due to it, Zacharie probably isn't even aware of where in the house it is.

But now he knows. It's on the second floor at the very end of a long hallway. It must be a big room - there isn't another door on the side of the hallway his is on, but there are three on the opposite end. Muffled music is coming from inside. Shockingly, it's... rock? American rock? Maybe British...? The lyrics are in English... Either way, it's wild - drums are being absolutely hammered on in a repetitive, fast paced way, and a saxophone is being played almost entirely out of control. It's raucous, and something about it is almost... ominous. Alongside it, a deep voice is singing,

_"Man, she punched me like a dude /_

_Hold your mad hands, I cried /_

_'Tis a pity she was a whore /_

_'Tis my curse, I suppose..."_

Percy wrenches the door open. Usually, she'd knock or at least announce her presence, but...

Pierre is listening to Blackstar.

Blackstar is David Bowie's last album, released a mere two days before his demise, and it's - well.

Through his career, Bowie released an astonishing twenty seven studio albums, eleven live albums, fifty one compilation albums, nine EPs, one hundred and twenty eight singles, and four soundtracks. 

In Ollie's opinion, Blackstar is the darkest, saddest, and most horrifying out of any of his albums. Listening to it, you can tell that something is happening to him - when you learn that he is rapidly dying from liver cancer, it's not a surprise.

At times, the album is reflective on his life... at others, it's vague and takes effort to understand at all.

I mean... Blackstar (the song) has no lyrics for precisely two minutes and thirty six seconds, and then all you get for a while is, _"In the villa of Ørmen, in the villa of Ørmen. Stands a solitary candle,"_ and a bunch of _ah_ s. Ørmen is apparently a village in Norway, and the word itself translates to _serpent._ _Apparently,_ this is supposed to mean that the "villa of Ørmen" is a stand in for Hell, and the solitary candle is Bowie's soul. Maybe. We aren't sure. Oh, and the repetition is reminiscent of Satanic chanting.

That's what we're getting into here.

And this song, _'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore_ is also vague.

It's five minutes long, but there are only three paragraphs of lyrics, and all of them are discussing how _"she"_ hurt the narrator, is a whore, and that _"That was patrol. This is the war."_

There have been interpretations that this is relating to an abusive relationship, where She physically abuses the narrator, and her cheating on him causes him to start a "war" against her and her other lovers. That is not Ollie's interpretation, and it is certainly not Pierre's.

Instead, combining the vague lyrics and the fast-paced, ominous instrumentals, they take it to mean this:

_She_ is not a real person. She is violence and fighting personified, or the governments who push for such. She abuses the narrator in a different way - forcing him to draft into the military, treating him cruelly during training, stealing his innocence, and sending him off to fight for a cause he doesn't even believe in. Ollie can't shake the thought that the instrumentals sound like someone being dragged forwards by time - being dragged forwards to death.

With this, _"'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore"_ discusses bitterness towards the fact that governments continue to fight wars and kill innocent people. It's a pity, because the narrator didn't want this and now, he is going to die.

Fun song! Real party! Total crowd-pleaser, 10/10.

Zacharie knows none of this. He doesn’t know a lot about... anything in general, and especially not this, because Pierre refused to share it with him. ...but if Pierre ever were ever to begin talking about Bowie... about his love for him and his music, Zacharie would be enthralled. Even if he never fully understood it, he would be enchanted to see Pierre passionate about something. About anything, as a matter of fact.

Percy and Pierre have discussed this album at length - their interpretations of the lyrics, how it relates to Bowie's death, and this: The fact that Pierre refuses to listen to it unless he is truly upset or brooding.

It means something for this song to be playing.

Or at least, it usually does. Hence Percy's frantic behavior. However, when she opens the door, it's... fine. Joining the sound of the music is Pierre's snoring. He's on his back in bed, not even under the covers, with a book still half-open beside him. Looks like Tobias isn't the only one sleeping right now...

Sleeping... Zacharie has never seen him asleep before. His face is relaxed for once, unmasked. His brows are soft, and his lips are parted, and -

He's pretty. He's incredibly pretty.

"Oh," Percy breathes, her heart, which had launched itself into her throat at mach speed only moments ago, settling back down into her chest.

Zacharie, as mentioned previously, didn’t know much about the song, but what he _did_ know was that the volume was very loud and Pierre and Tobias were both apparently trying to sleep, so, without observing anything else in the room, he wanders over to the record player and lifts the needle off the vinyl, cutting off the music abruptly.

When the audio suddenly cuts off, Pierre begins to stir. Percy freezes in place, covering her mouth so that even her breaths don't alert him - and then he settles again. Good.

That’s when Zacharie turns to take in Pierre properly.

He was a loud snorer, which Zacharie would not have guessed, but he adored it. He adored it because he’d never gotten to learn about it before, and now, it was something he never wanted to forget.

Just... little things, you know.

Zacharie would love to be close enough to Pierre to learn more little things - beyond just how he takes his tea and how he likes to organize his papers. He’d like to know what brands of shampoo Pierre likes. Zacharie knows the scent well, but he doesn’t know it’s name. In his mind, that name is just _Pierre._ But he’d like to know what it was actually called. He’d like to know how Pierre likes his socks folded. If he prefers scrambled eggs or over easy. If he’s the type to sing to a song he loves or if he just gets real quiet and vibes out.

Zacharie would like to know what Pierre looks like when he first wakes up in the morning... he must have awful bedhead with that much curly hair... it must be beautiful.

But alas, Zacharie didn’t believe he’d ever get to learn about any of these. So he’d latch onto every other little fact he got to hear and commit it permanently to his memory. He’d hold onto whatever he could.

_He’s so lovely._

Zacharie was staring.

Percy would be able to notice it, too, because it was a very... active sort of staring. He was consciously choosing to stop and inspect all of Pierre’s features, absorb the information, bask in the image. His expression was blank, but his eyes said so much. Affection, longing. A weary sort of resigned loneliness. He didn’t even seem to care if someone caught him looking. Despite all this, to tell you the truth, Percy actually _didn't_ notice how actively Zacharie is staring at first. Why? Because she's staring too.

Her eyes are taking in her brother's form, scanning him (and more importantly) his breaths.

It's been years since he went into surgery to fix his sleep apnea, and he hasn't had trouble with it since but when you wake up, having dozed off in your twin's room, and make your way to leave - only to find out that he's not breathing, well... it's a traumatic experience. One you continue to look out for, and one you will never forget.

Finally, she tears her eyes away, satisfied that he is not going to stop breathing, and takes in Zacharie.

“He’s had a long week,” he suddenly comments, tenderly, “I’m glad he’s getting a little rest.”

They're both so obvious... Percy doesn't call him out for it, however.

"The dumbass doesn't get enough sleep - ever. He needs it but he refuses to allow himself to get it."

Finally, Zacharie gives the rest of Pierre's bedroom a look.

First of all, it's a large room, probably a 20' x 20'.

Its decor is peculiar - considering that it mixes high class styles with something much stranger and down to Earth. Like... the walls are a deep, emerald green - everything fits into a color palette and everything is nice and expensive - but also there are random little trinkets on shelves and old photos and newspaper clippings hung up. It's like an eccentric professor lives here.

The a record player is sat on top of a shelf filled (and I mean _FILLED)_ with vinyls. He must have hundreds in there.

Right behind this is a poster that features a peculiar looking man's face. He has bright red hair swept back out of his face in mismatched, messy pieces, which showcases an even redder circle on his forehead with a lightning bolt in the middle. One pupil is at least three times larger than the other, making it appear that he has some form of heterochromia. His jaw and cheeks are chiseled, his lips are parted, and he's raising his hands just below his chin, fingers outstretched. He looks... alien. This is underlined by the fact that the background is split in half - the top half being the stars in space, and the bottom being the surface of a planet. There are artificial stars next to the mystery man's cheeks. Everything is filtered to an abnormal red color, making him appear all the more disconnected from reality. At the top of the poster is a small, yellow printed, _David_ followed by a large, stylized _BOWIE_ in red and blue, and then by the same yellow with _Ziggy Stardust._ Next to his hands are a black _& The Spiders From Mars_ and a yellow _28 September 1972. 8 pm._ Finally, along the bottom was _CARNEGIE HALL._

...Pierre's a music person...? He's a _rock_ music person...? Unexpected.

Zacharie probably could have predicted that Pierre liked music. He was a sophisticated, elegant man, so it made sense that he’d be a patron of the arts. He just didn’t realize it would be _this_ kind of music - although he didn’t have a single issue with that. He liked being surprised.

The other important thing to note about his room is his desk. It's a large desk, longer than most, and features his computer, a vintage typewriter, an ink and wax stamping set, and - ...papers. Papers, papers, papers. There are maps covered in little, color-coded dots, there are essays in different languages, there are torn out pages from books with specific phrases highlighted. Papers. Pierre's need to write things down seems controlled at school - simply an organization tactic, but here -

It's fervent, feverish.

It's like he had been awake far too late (he had), working in a flurry - like things would go dreadfully bad if he didn't.

Huh. Wait... is that a picture of Bigfoot on one of the maps...?

Percy tiptoes across the room until she's above Pierre and slowly removes his glasses. It takes a while, as she's being very cautious, but she succeeds.

"C'mon," She whispers, once she's next to Zacharie again, her voice breaking Zacharie's focus, which had settled back on Pierre's now spectacle-less face, "You can hang out with me."

She's not going to make him go home just because Pierre is absent. _She's_ his friend, too.

"I was thinking about playing a game - it's more fun in multiplayer, so like. It's perfect."

Something about the way she's saying this communicates that she's not going to _allow_ Zacharie to go home. She knows too much about how he thinks.

Zacharie really didn’t care that Percy had observed his desire. He’d spent a long time keeping his affections hidden, and now, he decided it didn’t matter one way or the other. He’d prefer if Pierre didn’t find out, ideally, because if he did, it could make him uncomfortable - or worse, Pierre would finally officially _reject_ Zacharie, and the thought of hearing those words from him... it was almost too heartbreaking even just to imagine it. But Percy seeing, Percy knowing, that was fine. It didn’t make a difference.

So when she addresses him, there is no shocked start, no embarrassed flushing of the face, no stammering to cover up why he’d just been staring. Just a slow, even turn towards Percy - slightly reluctant - and he says, “Well... yes, I’ll... _hang out_ with you, but for the record, I didn’t really come here to... hang out. We had some work to do... so if he wakes up and decides he wants to get that work done, I may have to leave and do that.”

Percy doesn’t judge Zacharie’s affections. If she were aware that he made a conscious decision to allow himself to display it in front of her, she would be pleased he trusts her that much.

“Yeah, I know,” Percy says, casually, “You can always do some work around me, too. I just think it would be nice to have some company, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same.”

There was also the homework Zacharie brought. He always picked whatever was the most difficult for him to take with him so he could ask Pierre for clarity occasionally. Usually math, but reading comprehension and sciences had the potential to stump him, too. But he doesn’t bring this up. He doesn’t like pestering Pierre for help, and only ever asks when Pierre is already there, focused at least partially on him, and as sparingly as possible, so there was no way he was going to pester Percy.

"It’s club stuff,” he clarifies, “we were going to meet to talk about our new host, maybe organize some new events... but we can do that later or some other time. If the change of plans is me hanging out with you, then I’m going to dedicate my attention to that.”

What a gentleman.

Also... yet another example of how hard Zacharie was trying to respect those walls. You little dumbass. He invited you over and even offered dinner. This _is_ a hang out. Actually, if Pierre had been awake, it might have even also been a date. Well... almost.

He crosses to Percy’s side, glancing at Pierre out of the corner of his eyes, saying, “Anyway... yea, sure. I’ll join you for a game, what is it?”

Percy walks out of Pierre’s door and closes it gently behind the both of them.

“It's called _Heave Ho._ It’s really dumb so naturally, I fucking love it.”

Zacharie follows Percy, a little closer than before when they’d ascended the stairs together, to her right a bit so he could look up at her face as they spoke and walked.

Percy is well aware that flirting and making women feel good is Zacharie’s job, but it still sometimes catches her off guard as to how much he knows what he’s doing.

She smiles. It’s nice to feel appreciated and wanted - even if she knows that he’s only actually here for Pierre. He doesn’t have to pay attention to her because he’s not awake, but agreeing to it so nicely is... nice. She likes Zacharie a lot.

It appears that Zacharie wasn’t the only one who felt like someone in this house was only being kind to them because they were obligated to. Percy was not receiving this behavior because Zacharie was hosting; he wasn’t working right now. All of his friendliness and flattery was genuine. The truth was, most of it was genuine in the club room, too - he pushed it for the sake of entertaining the girls, but it all came from truth, a deep, natural desire to make the people around him smile, laugh, and blush, feel adored and safe.

So him deciding to switch gears, albeit unexpectedly, to focus on Percy, who had invited him to play a game so he wouldn’t feel sad or alone, was entirely just him thinking about how best to respect and encourage her. He wasn’t doing anything to just be nice. He knew what the right thing to do was, and he did that, with interest.

That was his goal, always. Unfortunately, recklessness and a generally undeveloped skill for decision making often impaired the outcome of these well-meaning actions...

“So your new host, huh...? Do you like him...?”

Percy isn’t sure what to think of Alvin. She’s been told conflicting things by Pierre, and the only times she’s really seen him he’s been angry or being choked, so... it’s hard to tell.

While he replies, she leads him up another flight of stairs and into a living room. Notice that I say ‘a’ - the house is large enough that there are multiple. Zacharie has been in this one before, but Pierre tends to stick to the one by his room and the one in the attic, for the privacy. Once there, she turns the tv on and hooks her switch up to it so they can play.

“Like him...?” Zacharie murmurs, mulling the phrase around in his head, “...well, he’s... _cute..._ but brash. I think we can use that, though... Pierre tried to train that out of him at the beginning, but I think we just have to... tone it down a little. He’s definitely the type of guy to get on Pierre’s nerves, so I guess if Pierre was willing to put up with him to make him a host, he must see some real potential there, and I’m starting to see it too. That’s why I’m his new handler... if he’d briefed me a little before having the twins bring him in, I would have taken over from the beginning, but...”

Zacharie trails off a bit as he enters the living room, before selecting a spot on the floor to plop down and make himself comfortable for gaming.

“...I’m sure you know how it is with... Pierre and _telling me things...”_

He didn’t sound particularly bitter, but perhaps... tired and disappointed.

"Anyway... he did well today, all things considered. Reluctant to participate, but not as rude, and he even seemed to be enjoying himself a couple times,” Zacharie finishes, “Pierre must have made _some_ deal when he had to catch him at the beginning of today’s session. You weren’t there for that - he was sitting with Pierre and they were talking, and then Alvin just stood up and walked out. I still don’t know what for or what Pierre did to convince him to stay and to even put effort in. I was going to ask him about it tonight.”

_He's definitely the type of guy to get on Pierre's nerves._

Yeah, you could put it that way.

"God, yeah, I expected him to be annoyed - I didn't expect him to fucking _choke_ him."

She shakes her head, a mark of her dubiousness. Talking to her, its clear she disapproves of a lot of her brother's actions. It's fascinating. In public, it appears like the two of them are entirely in sync - one entity, just in different bodies. It's only when you actually talk to and get to know them that their many differences are underlined. She knows how bad Pierre is at communicating. On this front, she is not the same, so...

"Anyway, yeah, I know... it's not, like, _you,_ y'know? He keeps secrets with everyone..."

Sometimes, even she feels like it's impossible to know him.

That response struck Zacharie, so sharply and deeply that he hardly processed anything else Percy said, let alone provided a response.

When the controller is dropped into his lap, the impact breaks him out of his shock, and, still sitting, he slowly turns to look at Percy proper. There was a smile on his face, but it wasn’t remotely happy. His eyes were wide and round, and his brows were somewhere in the stratosphere, an expression not unlike the one Becca wore in the first Pitch Perfect film when she was accused of having a “t-oner.” When he spoke, his voice was quiet and shrill, on the verge of hysterics.

“He... _what?”_

Oh.

...oh, dear.

Zacharie hadn’t known about the choking incident, had he?

He’d been busy when it had happened, he’d been fixing up the little speed dating area, and he only emerged after Alvin had been freed from Pierre’s grasp.

Suddenly, Alvin’s silence and the darkness he’d had surrounding him during said dates made a lot of sense. His throat probably hurt. He was probably afraid of messing up and being attacked again. Not that Zacharie had much room to talk... he’d threatened to hit Alvin, should he insult Pierre again, but... he was the impulsive one. He was the emotional one. To have _Pierre_ snap like that and resort to physical violence...

Zacharie tried to re-establish some sort of normalcy, taking a shuddering breath and turning towards the TV again.

“...what the hell did he do to get Pierre that angry...?” He murmurs, rhetorically, trying to decide if he should be shocked by Pierre or furious with Alvin, silently wondering if Alvin had said something deeply heartless and cruel or if Pierre just needed to get some more sleep and learn some anger management skills. Both boys were a mystery, because after walking out, Alvin had seemed to have improved, which made very little sense, considering what had prompted him to leave in the first place... what had happened between them? What was up with them?

Oh... Percy hadn't known that Zacharie didn't know. Her demeanor shifts in an instant, some of her own pent-up shock from the incident bleeding out as she talks about it. It's unclear if you share this experience, but Ollie reports that sometimes when they see or experience something fucked up and are finally able to share it with another person by talking about it, their voice gets this excited tone. They aren't actually excited or happy about it, but it's such a relief to be able to talk about it - to figure out how you feel about it with someone you trust. Percy is doing that now.

"Fuck, you didn't see that, did you? It was bad - Pierre asked him if he slept well and kind of... teased him about following orders, and then Alvin went off and started going on this long, shitty rant - and then Pierre snapped and grabbed his tie. He started talking to him in a different language, one I've never heard before... fuck. I wouldn't be surprised if Alvin was disturbed by it - _I_ was disturbed by it, and I was just watching."

Noticing she's beginning to chew her bottom lip, she relaxes, and starts playing with her hair instead.

"I don't know why he lost control. It's unlike him... I mean, the stuff Alvin was saying was cruel, but it was not worth that - especially not from Pierre. It's almost like - "

She pauses. If Zacharie were looking at her, he'd see dawning realization in her eyes, "Oh - maybe he - how was Pierre today...? Did he seem frazzled? Tired? More, uh, affected by stuff than usual?"

Was Alvin’s rant... cruel...? It hadn’t meant to be cruel... shitty, yes, sarcastic, definitely, but... is it _cruel_ to stand up for yourself when you’re being condescended? When you’re attacked, when you’re pestered, when you’re talked down to and you feel abused and you finally have the energy bite back at the hand that keeps poking and pinching you... is exercising self-care selfish...?

He’d never once insulted Pierre during that rant. He’d only made it very clear that he didn’t need to be mothered into getting sleep.

But maybe that _was_ selfishness.

Maybe... maybe Alvin really was a bad person for standing up, for deciding he wasn’t going to take it. Maybe he deserved to be talked down to, like he was stupid, like he was blind, maybe he deserved to be denied oxygen for ever thinking he had the right to breathe it in the first place...

...it was a good thing Alvin wasn’t here to hear this... because... that’s what he’d think.

Honestly, if Pierre hadn’t had that talk with him, if he hadn’t opened up, outbursts like that would have just kept happening. Alvin would keep snapping and Pierre would keep snapping back until one of them broke - and since Pierre had the upper hand, it would have likely been Alvin. It would kill all sense of purpose and life, any semblance of self-love, any scrap of worth that Alvin permitted himself to cling to. Eventually, he’d stop talking, for good. They’d find him blindly agreeing to things, regardless of how awful those things were - suffering at the hands of bullies, being hurt, being teased, and he’d do nothing. He’d just let them hurt him.

Or they’d find him somewhere... worse. But it was less likely now that Alvin knew Pierre’s cold demeanor came from a similar place of self-loathing... who knows... maybe Alvin could avoid the clutches of that darkness inside him that was always clawing to drag him towards his grave. Maybe he could begin to feel safe and form a network of support within the club. None of that would have been possible had things continued in the manner they’d begun in today.

“Well, Alvin didn’t seem more upset, quite the opposite, actually,” Zacharie stutters, “I mean, not happy, but... god, he was so messed up when he did his dates. At the time, I didn’t know why, but now that I do, it seems... odd... that he improved so quickly, from cold, quiet, sad, and scared, to neutral in about fifteen minutes flat... as for Pierre...”

Zacharie screwed up his face in concentration, although it didn’t take much focus for him to decide, “...yes. Yes, he seemed less... present than normal. He wouldn’t tell me why. I’d hoped... maybe we could talk about it tonight, but even if he was awake right now, he probably wouldn’t have given me anything..."

Percy nods, unsurprised by this information. So it wasn't just her imagination that Pierre seemed off today...

"That explains a lot... He gets like that if he’s off his meds - really irritable, anxious, and tired. Sometimes, he even gets sick."

...Pierre’s medicated?

“That might be why he’s sleeping now..." She sighs, "It doesn't make what he did okay, but it's an... explanation, at least."

Zacharie purses his lips and then slowly turns towards Percy again, opening his mouth to say something, before realizing what an immense invasion of privacy that would be. This results in him ultimately shaking his head and turning back to the television to learn the controls of the game.

If Pierre wanted Zacharie to know that he was being treated for something, then he would have told him. Surely, Zacharie’s insistence that Pierre could tell him anything he wished was enough to convince Pierre to actually do that. There was no way that there was anything going on in Pierre’s head that he was keeping from Zacharie despite wanting to talk to him about it.

I’m being sarcastic, of course.

Pierre was hiding all sorts of things from Zacharie. All kinds of thoughts and feelings that he absolutely wanted to share and discuss, but didn’t dare. There was no way for Zacharie to know this, however, so he went on believing he knew everything he needed to.

Although it did hurt... hearing about something as important as Pierre being on some kind of medication for the first time after knowing him so long, and it wasn’t even from him personally...

...internally, Zacharie questioned what he’d done that made Pierre so compulsively secretive. Had Zacharie proved himself... untrustworthy somehow?

It wasn’t that Pierre didn’t trust Zacharie with the knowledge that he needs to take medicine - it’s that he’s ashamed. In his mind, the fact that he can’t function without them is... embarrassing. Revolting. Pitiable. He doesn’t want Zacharie to know, because he doesn’t want Zacharie to see his flaws.

He doesn’t want to have them in the first place.

“I’m glad he’s resting,” is what Zacharie finally said, softly, “He doesn’t do that enough. As much as I’d like to get work done... I think I hope that he doesn’t wake up. You know, until tomorrow morning. ...please make sure he takes his medicine then.”

He doesn’t know what the meds were or what they were for, but they were obviously important, and it was probably best for Zacharie to just pretend that he was already aware of them before just now.

“I will,” Percy replies, whilst making her character. She’d chosen yellow this time around, and is currently giving it funky glasses. 

“I’m pretty sure he did it on accident - I think he likes being on them.”

He does.

“I really hope he gets the rest though, too...”

“Well shit,” A voice says from the other side of the room, “Sorry to let you down.”

Don't get excited; it’s not Pierre. Zacharie breaks his attention from the game screen, where he was designing a red-themed character (naturally) to face the new addition to their little party.

The boy there is tall and strong - he’s wearing pink shorts that allow Zacharie to see that he has not skipped leg day. Paired with the shorts is a black hoodie that is tighter than hoodies usually are. Either he’s very confident about his body shape, or it’s not his. His skin is dark, a similar shade to Zacharie’s own. An uncommon shade in Japan. However, unlike Zacharie, he’s definitely Asian.

Seeing only his current outfit at first, it’s hard to see why Pierre has compared Tobias’ style with Alvin’s. When your eyes reach his face, however, it’s a different story. His hair is dyed a dark, hunter green, and is tied up with what must be at least twenty tiny pink bows. He’s slept on them, so they’re a bit wonky, but they’re there. What’s more, he has a full face of makeup - a bit smudged from the sleep, but still remarkably impressive.

He has stars on his cheeks, but not stickers. It looks like he put stickers there, but only to put his blush on, so that he could peel it off and have light, star-shaped freckles. Interesting. Finally, it’s hard to tell exactly how, but he looks... tired. Something about him just screams _I want to hibernate._ Cute. Looks like he needs about a thousand hugs. And maybe a cup of good, strong coffee.

Percy delights at seeing him. She shifts to a sitting position, saying, “Tobiii,” and making grabby motions with her hands.

He cringes at the nickname, but obliges, coming over to sit next to her.

“Hello,” he says, looking at Zacharie. There’s a hint of a question in his voice.

“This is Zacharie," Percy explains, latching onto Tobias' arm as an affectionate greeting.

Eyes widen. _“Pierre’s_ Zacharie?”

Percy doesn’t voice it, but she would personally argue that it’s the other way around.

Zacharie avoids staring as Percy greets her boyfriend, silently wishing he could greet Pierre that way, and doesn’t turn around again until Percy introduces him. The smile he bore as he prepared to tell Tobias that it was nice to meet him was genuine, but if any truth could become truer, thats what happened to his expression when the boy got to saying _that_ before Zacharie got to speak.

_Pierre’s Zacharie._

The smile started big and wide, but somehow, when it softened out of surprise and delight, it seemed so much happier. Gentle is not synonymous with weak; this expression, while more subtle, was much more dynamic. Much more powerful. It said more, carried more weight.

"Oh...” he breathes, _“Pierre’s Zacharie..._ how nice it is to hear it said that way.”

Oh, poor baby boy had it _bad._

He mutters something to himself in Spanish before addressing Percy and her beau properly again, “Yes, that’s me. And you must be Percy’s Tobias.”

Referring to Tobias the same way he’d referred to Zacharie? Telling.

"I wish I could say I’ve heard a lot about you, but I didn’t know about you until yesterday. I don’t hang out with Percy enough, though, so that’s probably why,” he finishes, “It’s nice to meet you. I like your bows, they’re very striking against your hair.”

Tobias and Percy shoot subtle glances towards one another.

Obviously, they’d talked about Zacharie before. Not much - they don’t tend to focus on Pierre and his personal life in their conversations, but Percy had mentioned that her twin brother was head over heels in love with the boy he runs the club with, and that neither of them would make a damn move.

Huh. She wasn’t kidding,either... Zacharie really does have it /bad/, and according to Percy, Pierre has it as bad if not worse... so why aren’t they talking about it? Tragedy.

“You’re cute.” He says, decisively. A little smile has spread at the reminder that he’s someone’s, too - someone he likes very much. 

“Thank you - that’s what I’m going for," he then scowls at Percy, “Unlike _you.”_

She feigns offense, putting her hand on her chest and squawking like Pearl in the first season of Steven Universe. To elaborate, he grabs the chest of the hoodie, pulls it, then releases.

“This was the only thing I could find in your closet that wasn’t red, denim, a uniform, or pajamas.”

“And why’d you snoop around in there, huh? What was your motive? Wanted to look around in there? Wanted to see if any _seeecrets_ were in there?”

“You’ve already come out, so no.”

She grins.

“Back on topic,” he says, pursing his lips, “Why is _everything_ you own _red?”_

“I like red.”

“Why? It’s, like... the grossest color.”

She points towards the television screen at Zacharie’s character, her volume raising, “Slander! That’s slander! Zacharie, back me up here!”

Zacharie shoots a glance at the character design in progress, then back at Tobias, expression light and cheery, “Red’s my favorite color. I don’t know why though. Arguably, it _is_ aggressive and alarming, but I’ve always loved it anyway. Maybe it’s because of roses... or the bright red mandevilla that used to grow up over the balcony of my childhood - ...bedroom.”

He slowed down before saying _bedroom_ in such a way that it seemed like maybe he’d been searching for the word in Japanese, but in reality, he had almost said his _quarters,_ which would have been suspicious phrasing for someone who was _not_ secretly a runaway crown prince.

Percy preens when she hears that red is Zacharie’s favorite. She thought so, but it was nice to hear confirmation.

"Reminds me of home, I guess. Oh, and it’s well-known to be the color of passion and love, which is surely why many others like it, too. But yes, it is... intense. I definitely wouldn’t call it the _grossest_ color. I believe that title goes to _shit brown.”_

His eloquence made the swear feel jarring and sudden, and just that much funnier, especially when he punctuated the claim with a mirthful, crooked grin.

“Yes!” Percy exclaims, “See! Red’s great.”

She would go on, but then Zacharie makes his _shit brown_ comment, and she loses all train of thought in her laughter.

Tobias snickers, but is pieced together enough to continue expressing his thoughts, saying, “It’s just too strong for me, I guess. That’s cool though.”

Neither questions Zacharie for his hesitation on the word _bedroom_ \- but he probably wouldn’t have been questioned about saying _quarters_ anyway. Zacharie forgets that he’s currently inside a mansion that only three people and their staff live in. Everyone has quite a bit of space. Tobias’ family isn’t as rich - he doesn’t go to Ouran, after all, but he’s familiar enough with the Thanatos family and its circles that he wouldn’t think twice about one of their friends using palace terminology to describe their home.

Zacharie’s new home, here in Japan, isn’t as grand - not nearly as grand as the Thanatos manse, let alone a palace of gold. In fact, it wasn’t grand at all. It was just a house. A little one, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen-dining room combo. Most of the rooms weren’t even lit. He didn’t even sleep in the bedroom. Since he lived alone and preferred it anyway, he’d built a sort of nest in the living room by his little TV set, and did his homework by candlelight on a stool at the kitchen counter while he waited for his microwave to alert him that his meals were ready.

The only reason someone would assume Zacharie to live an opulent life was the fact that he attended Ouran, but the money he’d stolen and saved mostly went to tuition at a school with a robust security team, meant to protect the children of the social elite. Whatever was left over after that - and books and uniforms and rent, of course - had to be spent very sparingly. He didn’t have a lot of clothes - which was one reason he was grateful for the uniform - and Pierre had seen the off-white and burnt orange turtleneck Zacharie was currently sporting multiple times. He also tried not to run his heating, water, and electricity bills too high... which was one of the reasons he’d begged for Pierre to get a kotatsu. He couldn’t afford to buy one himself, and if he had, he’d barely be able to use it, but, hailing from a equatorial island environment, he got so much colder than others in Japan. He was always craving warmth - hence the sweaters and the affection for kotatsu.

The point is... Zacharie actually wasn’t rich, even if he seemed to be. He was just really good at hiding it.

When Pierre realizes how Zacharie has been living, his heart is just going to implode. All that time he spent thinking Zacharie was ridiculous for wanting a kotatsu so badly... and he'd wanted it because he was cold... and lonely.

...he will buy him far more than a kotatsu to make up for it.

“Pink is a nice color too,” Zacharie says, gently, glancing at Tobias’ hair bows again, “It’s the color of innocence and purity. And green - your hair - is the color of intelligence. ...that must be why Pierre likes it so much, even if he doesn’t realize it...”

Entirely a coincidence that Zacharie’s favorite color was the most emotional one while Pierre’s was the most pragmatic. Of course, the intelligence of the color green is not the only quality that Pierre likes. Of course he enjoys that too, but... green is also the color of nature and harmony. It’s the color of the bright, lush forests Pierre spends plenty of his weekends exploring. It’s the color of that beautiful grassy hill he once caved and rolled down when he was visiting the countryside. It’s the color of soft, inviting moss underneath his bare feet, and the frog that he coaxed into his hands to admire. Green, for him, is the perfect balance - regality and nature, carefully constructed words and none spoken in his awe, his facade and his true self.

Zacharie doesn't know about that though. Pierre has never discussed what he does on weekends, even though it would be known that he’s absent during a lot of them. It would be hard to guess that through his wardrobe, filled with greens and browns, there are tokens of his appreciation for life, for the world around him.

They still had so much to learn about each other... but once they did, once they knew, it would be a joy for them to have a picnic in the forest, Zacharie stealing one of Pierre’s sweaters for the day, both of them sharing a blanket while Pierre quietly but animatedly pointed out flora and fauna and taught Zacharie everything he knew and loved about them. Zacharie, listening intently, snuggled into Pierre’s side, will watch as he speaks like he's the most beautiful person in the world - because, to Zacharie... he is.

“Blue is approachability, yellow is the most striking, orange is the boldest, violet is the color of fantasy, and black is the color of authority,” Zacharie finishes, thoughtfully, “so I suppose every color has its draws.”

Tobias listens to Zacharie’s analysis of color thoughtfully, “Yeah, I think you’re right...”

Percy, meanwhile, is analyzing. She’s familiar with color theory, being fond of drawing here and there, but she doesn’t really connect it to the people in her life very much, “It really does fit - my mom loves green, too. Damn...”

She’s finished creating her character now, so she asks Tobias if he wants to join them, then sets him up so he can start designing his, too. Heave Ho has five color options, green, red, blue, yellow, and orange, so he picks green to match his hair.

“Your mother _is_ a brilliant woman,” Zacharie comments, offhandedly, experimenting with some of the goofy accessories for his character, “I can see where you and your brothers get it from.”

It was such an absent, casual comment that there was no way it wasn’t genuine. Zacharie did this a lot. Compliments and kindness were first nature for him. He always knew just how to encourage someone. It was also sweet to note that he’d said “your brother _s,”_ plural. We’ve already established that people don’t usually equate Orion with his older siblings. But here Zacharie was, just honestly considering Orion to be just as bright and extraordinary as the twins. Because he was - in different ways, perhaps, but that’s what it means to be an individual.

The inclusion of Orion elicits a beam from Percy, and a huge rush of affection. She had known Zacharie was a good guy, and that he treats Ori well, but hearing that when so many others attempt to contradict it is relieving. Refreshing. Wonderful. She loves Zacharie.

It doesn’t take long for the trio to begin their game. A bit of explanation is required for Tobias and Zacharie, but not much, and they are therefore thrust into the ridiculousness quickly. And it’s fun. On multiple occasions, Percy and Tobias laugh heartily, and there are even more when they gasp with the tension of trying to reach a platform or the coin, or screams of anguish when someone falls. 

Zacharie grasped the controls and the mechanics very easily, but he took directions very poorly, and he ended up being the cause of several of their mishaps and fumbles. There were lots of exclaims of “go to your left - no, your _OTHER_ left - " whenever it was up to him to get ready to play catch. Luckily, he was used to being a little inept when it came to problem solving skills, so he was able to accept his failures with a laugh and smile.

Zacharie felt like this was an excellent icebreaker game. He was getting along great with Percy and Tobias, and had the sensation of learning about them, their problem-solving and communication styles, and their senses of humor. It was a good feeling. It was the closest he’d felt to anyone in a long time.

At one point, there was even -

“Percy. I am going to swing and reach for the coin. Whatever you do, do not let go.”

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Don’t let go.”

“Don’t let go?”

“Yes, don’t let go.”

“So this platform, yeah? I shouldn’t let go?”

“Yes, exactly.”

\- followed by Percy immediately letting go and sending all three characters to their gruesome, splattered deaths.

They’ve played for about forty-five minutes, and have made it through a variety of levels, when it happens. Suddenly (even more jarring, considering they were all focused on the television screen) Pierre’s voice is coming nearer, sounding almost frantic.

“Percy? Percy - I fell asleep. Zacharie was due to arrive over an hour ago, but I fell asleep. Did he come? Do you know what h- "

He halts as he steps fully into the room and sees Zacharie.

Pierre is wearing slacks, because it might be actually impossible for him to not be formal, and a gray cotton t-shirt. A t-shirt... his hair is in a bun messy enough that he is embarrassed about it. A flush rises to his cheeks.

“Good evening,” he says, helplessly.

Pierre’s emergence prompted a pausing of the game, and Zacharie’s gaze snapped up to take him in as he entered.

That blush...

...he looked so comfortable. More leisurely than Zacharie had ever seen him, aside from when he’d literally been asleep not too long ago... but that was due more to the shirt and the hairdo (which Zacharie adored, of course) than to the expression on his face or his body language as he realized that Zacharie was there in the room. Zacharie decided he liked Pierre in pink. He hoped to make him flush like that many times over. It was a pretty color on him.

His own cheeks warming, just a tad, at the thought that Pierre had woken up thinking about him (just this once), he greets Pierre with a patient smile, “Evening. We decided to let you rest. I would have headed back home so you could sleep, but Percy invited me to stay for some friendly cock-and-ball torture. You’re just in time to see us maim each other.”

He chuckles, gesturing to the game, “It’s a real friendship ruiner. Would you like to join us?” He invites Pierre to sit with him on the floor, indicating that he could separate his controller and give Pierre one of his joy-con to use, “Since you’ve only just woken up, it would probably be a bad idea to immediately start working... we don’t even have to work tonight at all, if you don’t want. We could do it tomorrow instead.”

Pierre is dumbfounded by Zacharie’s presence here. He’s dumbfounded by all of this.

He had been expecting to locate Percy and learn that Zacharie had come, but had left once he learned that Pierre couldn’t attend to him. Maybe she even texted him before he arrived, having noticed him asleep. There was no possible timeline in which he’d come up here to find the boy himself... or so he thought.

Mixed feelings sprout in response. Seeing Tobias, Percy, and Zacharie all here playing is.... new. They all fit together in the room so well - fit together with this game. If he didn’t know better, he could guess that they’ve all been friends for ages. That’s weird for him. It’s upsetting, considering he wants that with him so badly, and jarring, but... nice. It’s really nice to see Zacharie enjoying himself, especially with someone he trusts as much as Percy.

Lord, is he embarrassed. He’d changed into this shirt when he woke up, figuring that it would just be him and his family this late, and the hair had followed. Sometimes, it’s nice to just get it out of your face. Realizing he has to breathe and filter oxygen through his body or he’ll overheat, he exhales, and silently reaches up to let his hair down. Zacharie appeared just a mite disappointed when Pierre abandoned the bun, but he didn’t care _that_ much. Either way, Pierre was gorgeous.

He’s thinking about it. Getting this close to Zacharie after just waking up is startling, and being by him when he’s sweating (both from napping and finding him here) is undesirable, but...

He does want to play.

Gently, he resigns, “Alright,” and moves so he can sit next to Zacharie on the floor.

next to him on the floor.

Pierre is one of those people that finds it difficult to sit on the floor. His body isn’t really made for it, so he has to adjust a bit before he’s even slightly comfortable, but then he’s... there. He’s there, right next to Zacharie, about to play a goofy video game with him. 

Zacharie resisted the urge to reach for Pierre’s hand and pull him into place beside him, busying those fingers that ached to be interlaced with his with the task of separating his controller and attaching the single joy-con safety grips that make it easier to hit the shoulder buttons while Pierre took his seat. Zacharie silently wished he could snap his fingers and turn the hardwood floor into a massive, comfy mattress, so Pierre’s boney, lanky form could rest on it comfortably, and he hands Pierre’s joy-con to him.

If either boy were looking back at Percy and Tobias on the couch, they’re looking at one another. The latter has made the conclusion the former had made some time ago -

It is much more apt to say _Zacharie’s Pierre_ than _Pierre’s Zacharie._ He’s _gone_ for him. It’s strange to see... but nice. Good. Tobias hopes they come clean to one another... eventually.

Even after the controller was in Pierre's possession, Zacharie took a moment longer to look away. He seemed to be analyzing Pierre’s features and committing them to memory. Casual, natural Pierre. Zacharie didn’t want to forget a thing. Luckily for Zacharie, Pierre doesn’t leave his hair down. The bun was far too messy for him to keep, but he’s kind of over having his hair everywhere for today. To keep it out of his face, he sets the controller on the floor beside him and starts braiding. Zacharie would be impressed to see that he’s completed a skilled braid in only about a minute. He must do this a lot. Zacharie's cheeks darkened a bit and he watches Pierre braid with a faintly satisfied, adoring expression on his face.

Slowly, Zacharie turned back to the game, saying, “I don’t know if you’ve played this before, but considering it’s your sister’s, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

_What a worthless, empty statement that was,_ Zacharie thought. _Small talk. Just saying something to say something._

He wanted to say something to _mean_ something, instead. He wanted to tell Pierre how lovely he looked tonight. How delighted he was to get to spend some time with him that didn’t involve any kind of work or study. How nice his room was. How proud he was to find him taking a nap.

Desperately looking for a way to express these feelings without seeming like a creep, he murmurs, “I’ve never seen you in normal clothes. It’s unusual for me, but I think it suits you.”

“I haven’t played before, no,” Pierre muses, not seeing Zacharie’s statement as anything similar to useless, “but it is a rarity that I play _any_ video games, so this one is nonexclusive.”

Upon hearing the next statement, the one Zacharie finds to be more meaningful, Pierre’s gaze softens infinitesimally.

“Hm... I disagree, but thank you.”

Something about that _thank you_ is softer than normal. Zacharie catches the shift in Pierre’s eyes just before he formulates that response, and feels his heart skip a beat. Pierre looked at him like that sometimes, but it was always brief, and it felt so rare. Every time was just as much of a delightful shock as the first. It has the potential to spark a nice moment between them - but then Pierre arches his back, and it cracks like his spine snapped in two. He frowns, wincing disapprovingly at the sound. Percy swears under her breath, then reaches behind her and tugs the couch cushion up in order to throw it at Pierre.

He would protest, but she’s already snuggling into Tobias to make up for the lack of pillowing behind her, so he uses it for its intended purpose and puts it behind him to lean on.

Looks like he could use Magnus’ ticket for one free back rub. Tobias agrees, saying, “Have you ever even _looked_ at a chiropractor before?”

“I resent that,” he replies, beginning to make his character, “My schedule, despite common belief, does not allow for massages.”

Since Tobias took green, Pierre is left with blue (a true travesty), and puts his character in a mullet and glasses (a look) before he’s ready to begin.

“Is it really a common belief that you have an open schedule? I would absolutely never guess that,” Zacharie comments after the interaction between Pierre and Tobias, turning back to the game to observe the character creation, “but I guess I _am_ more involved in your after-school activities than most other people...”

“I believe most people who don’t actually visit our club assume that hosts do a lot less work than we do,” Pierre explains, hitting the _okay_ button so they can move on with the game.

“It does seem frivolous, on the outside.”

Tobias currently understands why the host club is so popular. Watching the both of them be so in love with one another, and yet not doing anything about it is _torture._ But... fun torture. Torture you’re invested in. He’s not seen these two enough to be annoyed by it like Percy. Silently, he’s rooting them.

It takes Pierre a moment to understand the game’s controls, not owning a switch himself, but soon enough he’s adapted and they’re playing again. The pillow isn’t used as much as Percy would have liked - Pierre leans in to view the screen closer, brows scrunched slightly in concentration.

Zacharie would know this expression well. It’s used whenever the boy is in deep thought, be it mulling something over or making a decision for the club, but he’s never seen it recreationally before. Then, he accidentally lets go of the coin, and he draws back, pursing his lips with frustration. They start again.

“Alvin seemed to think it was like a PG-13 male brothel,” Zacharie chuckles, sounding just a little bit bitter, recalling how Alvin had summed up their daily activities on his first, ahem, _visit_ to the club room, “Not that that wouldn’t have also been a lot of hard work - from what I hear, sex work is not easy, and I applaud the people who do it well - but it is definitely a very different _kind_ of hard work than the kind we currently perform. I think today, he was finally starting to get it, at least a little bit...”

“Perhaps he’s starting to get it, or he’s put aside his morals and is simply enjoying the treatment he's receiving,” Pierre counters, recalling how engaged Alvin had been while at Lincoln and Cedric’s station, “Though you likely didn’t see that... Considering your station alone, I would be inclined to agree with you, but I witnessed how much _fun_ he had with the twins.”

Zacharie had _definitely_ seen the interaction between Alvin and the twins. Bold of Pierre to assume that Zacharie hadn’t been making excuses to look in Alvin’s direction throughout their entire session that day. He’d kept it discreet and natural, and he only did it about twice for each of Vin’s brief apprenticeships, but it would have been irresponsible of him as the club leader to have been completely out of the loop. Not to mention how worried about Alvin that Zacharie had been. 

After his date, after his walk-out... Zacharie wondered if there was something up that was unrelated to the club. He had, at the time, seemed even less cooperative than the day before, but in one instance it seemed less due to defiance and more due to... resign. Zacharie didn’t know what had prompted Alvin to give up then, and in that way, and for a while, he’d been concerned that they were playing with a boy whose life was much too complicated already to be juggling the host club and the pressure of this debt of his on top of that.

But then... he’d talked to Ares. They seemed like they’d been getting along. He talked to Orion. Ori appeared to be understanding Vin’s cold nature better. And the twins...

Zacharie wasn’t a fan of how Pierre had... phrased... that statement. It made it seem like Alvin was only starting to settle in because he felt like he had something to gain from it, but to Zacharie, while he didn’t necessarily approve of the twins’ hands-on methods, Alvin’s session with them showed that he could be communicated with. The twins had this way of reading Alvin like no one else in the club - better than Pierre, even, since Pierre’s desire to appear cold-hearted outweighed his desire to honestly connect with anyone - and while their technique was unorthodox, Zacharie could tell that the three were really speaking each others’ languages.

Alvin wasn’t starting to settle because he felt like he had something to gain, he was starting to settle because he was beginning to see that there really was a place to fit in there.

That’s what Zacharie had seen, anyway.

I mean, yes, they were definitely flirting, but that felt secondary to Alvin actually loosening up, engaging, making the girls laugh and blush on his first day.

Zacharie had actually felt proud of Alvin. He’d had his doubts, but... that, plus choosing to speak when he saw a guest feeling unsafe, promising that the situation would be dealt with, and (presumably) attempting to deliver on the promise himself, Zacharie was sure that they would have Alvin established properly in the club in no time... but Pierre made it sound like Alvin just wanted to hook up. And maybe he did. But Zacharie wondered how Alvin would feel if he were to hear Pierre talking about him like that.

Pierre isn't quite sure of what he believes, honestly. He hasn't felt his best today, and things with Alvin have just been... so confusing.

On one hand, he is aware that the twins had helped him improve. Around him, his demeanor was happier and more natural - it seemed that, for once, he wasn't thinking about how desperately he wanted to get out the door. But on the other, he had been thirstier than a rabbit in spring. The girls enjoyed it, so it was fine, but it was _so_ lascivious. But... those are only his feelings on the surface. Underneath, it is important to note that he is... resentful of Alvin. To have anyone see him at a place as low as the one he'd been today; to have anyone gain such a clear advantage over him was murder. Pierre is afraid of the power he allowed the boy to gain.

And... as much as he refuses to admit it... he wishes he were in Alvin's place with the twins. He's the vice president of the club, and he's never slipped enough to do anything like that... yet Alvin was getting it on his first week. It looked... It looked _fun._ He wants that. So. With all this swirling around in his mind, it was easier to undermine Alvin's progress and the events of today. It was easier to sustain his cold exterior. To be honest, if Pierre _had_ told Alvin that you thought his session had been a bit too risque, he would have agreed. He had been having fun, but the twins got a little caught up in their play, and even if Vin enjoyed it, he knew that a line had to be drawn somewhere. It was one of the reasons he’d been so speechless; he hadn’t expected the boys to go that far.

But these were also the men that gagged him, bagged him, and dragged him to the club room just under a week ago, so maybe it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise in the first place.

In reality, the twins often got carried away at school because it was the only place they could count on having no parental supervision. And the host club was an even safer zone. They got to be themselves. But at home, they had to be the serious sons of an upstanding Muslim family. Not that they’d ever blame Islam for their _parents’_ bigotry, but, well... it was understandable that they’d enjoy the haven of the Host Club, giving them free reign to... just be kids, goofing off, flirting, joking, and maybe even slipping up and taking it too far. The Host Club was forgiving and patient. The Host Club wasn’t going to expect them to grow up too fast.

Zacharie was tempted to ask Pierre about the “deal” he’d made, but figured that now wasn’t the time. Instead, he observed Pierre’s focused body language and how he was neglecting the pillow for that aching spine of his and decided to see if he could get him to completely let loose for once.

This game had no time limit; it had no failure cap. It wasn’t _easy,_ but there was no pressure to succeed efficiently. The object was not to reach the goal, nor even to collect the coins, but instead, to _have fun_ with your _friends._

So, after Pierre dropped his first coin and Zacharie recognized that fiery concentration in Pierre’s brow, imagining that he was quietly beating himself up for the fumble, Zacharie took it upon himself to sabotage all of their plans, constantly, without discrimination, playing dumb and grinning like an idiot at the screen as he flung characters (both his and others’) into electrified walls and off cliffs, flicking glances and stupid smiles around at the other players to encourage them to join in. His goal was to get them all to forget about precision and planning and to act entirely on instinct, regardless of the consequences - to just throw themselves around and hope for the best. To laugh at every absurd mistake, to cheer at every miraculous triumph - to enjoy themselves. When this started happening, he stopped intentionally ruining things and engaged that same mindset.

The shadow king doesn’t enjoy himself, not at first. As Zacharie noticed, he beats himself up for his fumble, and is so focused on doing things the quote on quote _"right"_ way that he can’t have any fun. But then Zacharie starts fucking with things. This only frustrates him for a while, internally yelling because he’s trying so hard to do it right and cannot with the other boy messing around...

Percy suddenly follows his lead. Seeing him flinging himself around is amusing to her, and she therefore wants to do the same. Pretty soon, she’s snickering again, eyes alight with happiness. Tobias is the next to join, figuring, _"Hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em."_

There is still resistance from Pierre, but it is diminishing. As the most practical member of the host club, he knows that it becomes difficult to be productive when everyone else is just having a good time.

Just go for it. Just jump. Don’t think - leap. That had always been Zacharie’s motto. It would get him into trouble someday, but for now, here, where they were all safe and happy, it was simply nice, and nicely simple. It made everything around him feel lighter, like his very presence converted oxygen to helium and weakened gravity’s pull on their bodies, their faces, their hair. Everything was lifted. This had always been Zacharie’s affect on the world around him.

Slowly, cautiously, Pierre lets go of his reins.

And it’s fun. He would despise admitting it, but... he has fun.

Luckily, he doesn’t _need_ to admit it. Zacharie would be able to tell, when his back touches the pillow again, when he blinks in surprise and lets out a mirthful sigh at a particularly strange mistake, and when Percy manages to throw the coin into the goal all the way across the level, and he - ...he laughs.

It’s a short one, almost buried in Tobias and Percy’s cheers, but it’s a laugh. It actually takes him more than a few seconds to regain his neutral expression. My god... Zacharie did that.

Zacharie wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed Pierre’s little laugh, but he sure did. Pierre would feel wide eyes trained on his face as he tried to restore his ever-serious composure.

Zacharie missed his _real_ laugh. His big one. He hadn’t heard it in forever. This just made him crave it more. It's a shame he enjoys Pierre's laugh so thoroughly. Pierre feels guilty for having let even the slightest hint of one escape.

After they’d had their fun, properly, Zacharie noticed the clock on the wall and the dimming sky outside, and said, sounding just a tad nervous, “It’s getting late, I think I’d better go. I don’t want to walk home in the dark.”

He couldn’t remember if he’d ever told anyone here that he walked here every time he visited, but it wasn’t exactly a secret, so he didn’t mind mentioning it. Of course, he would be hard-pressed to come up with a believable fake reason why he couldn’t just call a taxi. He couldn’t very well say, _ah, yes, that, well, I can’t call a taxi because I can’t waste what little money I stole from my kingdom before fleeing it on something I can just handle myself for free, now, can I?_

He was supposed to be a rich young transfer student, living alone and receiving allowances from his family.

He’d just have to say that he had a budget for transportation and he didn’t want to go over it.

His friends - and Pierre, most of all - are all disappointed to hear he has to go. Luckily, his strange determination to walk to and from the house isn't questioned. The Thanatos family has known Zacharie long enough to become accustomed with his idiosyncrasies. When he announces his trepidation about walking home in the dark, Percy opens her mouth to say something, but never finishes it. Pierre beat her to the punch.

"May I drive you home?"

_May_ I drive you home... not, _"Oh, I can drive you home."_ It's a request, not an offer. That's odd...

"I've... been attempting to get more practice at it, especially at peculiar daylight hours such as this."

Oh, honey. You're not as smooth as you think.

Zacharie is too shocked by Pierre’s request to reply at first, and it showed on his face. Had Percy been the one to speak, he would have immediately responded, maybe even cut her off, but because it was _Pierre_ who offered... he was a little dumbstruck. His cheeks were glowing.

_Yes. A million times, yes, yes, yes. I haven’t gotten to be alone with you all evening, I was really looking forward to it, and this is our chance, so definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, the answer is -_

"-No,” he says.

There was something off about it. The reply was so short, so abrupt, and his voice was weak and whispery, like he wasn’t so confident about this decision. He looked... heartbroken, actually. And conflicted.

He clears his throat, trying to shake it off, “I-I mean... no, thank you, you... don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

See, Zacharie was crazy paranoid about Pierre seeing where Zacharie lived. It was a little stupid, considering his address wasn’t hard to find, especially for a man like Pierre, and just seeing the house from the outside wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Even if you were a _rich_ transfer student, living alone in Japan on an allowance, it tracks that you wouldn’t live in some big fancy mansion. That would be absurd. Zacharie is a kid. I mean, _nearly_ an adult, but still a teenager, still in school, so the size of his home made perfect sense.

But... Zacharie was terrified Pierre might ask to come in for tea.

That he might start turning up unannounced, that he might find out _how_ Zacharie had been living.

It scared him.

And as much as he wanted to sit in a car with Pierre, to listen to Pierre’s music as they drove, to talk to him, to be alone with him... as much as he’d _love_ to invite him over for tea, he just couldn’t. He was too afraid.

Percy had been thrilled. She had been about to subtly (not so subtly) suggest that he drive Zacharie instead of having him walk, and then he just... offered it. Himself. He took a step there, when he could have remained with his feet firm on the ground.

And then... Zacharie said no.

Neither twin had been expecting that.

Pierre blinks once. A no...

Oh. Okay. That's alright too - it's... much more fitting to their boundaries.

Pierre actually already knows where Zacharie lives. He saw the outside, once, but as its been said, with his isolation from his family, the size wasn't surprising. It was nice enough, after all...

He doesn't know. Mystery's finest connoisseur, and yet he's overlooked the one right under his nose. It will destroy him when he figures it out. Percy doesn't like the uncertainty in Zacharie's decline. Her voice gentle, confused, she asks, "Are you sure...?"

Saying no had hurt. It had hurt... a lot.

So of course Zacharie wasn’t sure.

But he had no choice. He was in a sort of... self-imposed witness protection. Pierre couldn’t know about Zacharie’s past, he was trying to leave that all behind. He couldn’t have Pierre over until he had a job and an income and could build that new life he was looking to construct.

He’d been on the run for two years and two months before stopping here, in Japan. He’d begged, borrowed, and stole his way across continents to get here, where he hoped he’d never be found. If he wanted to keep it that way, he couldn’t draw too much attention to himself. Unfortunately... there was one person whose attention Zacharie craved more than anyone else. It was hard to say no to him.

Pierre's recovered by now. Feelings? He hasn't heard of her.

"Allow me to give you a bit of money for a cab, then. That way you won't have to walk in the dark."

It was ridiculous, honestly. Both of these boys have (or should have) enough money - more than they know what to do with. Zacharie shouldn't require some for a cab ride. And yet... Pierre offers some. He is aware that his friend doesn't like spending money, though his assumption is that he's attempting to impress strict parents with his budgeting instead of the truth. Pierre, on the other hand, can afford a cab ride without thinking about it. Hell, he could afford to take a cab all over Japan if he so wished.

So... he figures the act of kindness is best for the both of them.

“I appreciate that, but...” Zacharie muttered, nervously, about to turn Pierre down again, but then, he changed his mind, “...okay. Alright. If you’re sure. And... if I don’t have to wait for the cab alone.”

There. A chance to be alone with Pierre, one that didn’t involve taking him to Zacharie’s depressing house. Everyone is happy.

Of course, that’s contingent on it being Pierre who waited with him. Zacharie hoped Pierre would take the hint.

Fortunately, it is Pierre who rises, humming agreement, then looks towards him to follow. Tobias is staring at them, analyzing. All this talk about them both pining for one another and being oblivious... are they, actually? Perhaps they’re already in a relationship, and are just keeping it secret...

“Bye, Zacharie, it was good to meet you.”

Percy, beside him, knows that that’s not true. But oh, she wishes.

“See you around, babe.”

Zacharie gets himself together and rises to his feet, flashing a crooked grin towards Percy and Tobias, “Nice meeting you too, Tobias. You better treat Percy right, cause if you don’t she’ll kick your ass and I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

It was very clear that he wasn’t worried about Tobias being a problem in Percy’s life, but he loved any opportunity to hype a strong woman up. He focuses his gaze on Percy, and says, “See you. Have a lovely evening. Thanks for the game, it’s been a while since I had that much fun.” Always a gentleman.

Slightly disconcerted that his sister had just called the love of his life _babe,_ Pierre leads Zacharie down and out of the house. Zacharie pauses to fire finger guns at Tobias and Percy - who blows him a kiss - before he backs up and then spins on his heel to catch up to Pierre on their way down the stairs. As he leaves the two of them behind, he would be able to hear Tobias jokingly asking Percy where _his_ kiss was, only to be immediately cut off with a _"mmpfh!"_ as she pulls him towards her.

Once they were out of the couple’s sight, Zacharie sidled up next to Pierre, glancing up at the elf’s face, inspecting his expression. He was trying to decipher if Pierre was excited about this chance to spend some one-on-one time with each other as Zacharie was.

Pierre is walking with his back arched and his head poised to look directly in front of him. Zacharie wouldn’t see emotion, but he _would_ see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. This was actually rather normal. He sweats a fucking lot. I’m not taking normal teenage boy sweat, I’m talking this boy has been diagnosed with a disorder because of how much he sweats. He has primary focal hyperhidrosis - which basically means that he’s otherwise healthy physically, but he produces an abnormal amount of sweat on his feet, hands, armpits and face. He, of course, _hates_ it. Having to put on antiperspirant lotion, mountains of deodorant, and perfume multiple times a day in order to not gross himself out? That fucking sucks.

It‘s not bad all the time - it’s actually kind of random. Sometimes, when he’s anxious, he can feel the sweat starting, and sometimes he doesn’t sweat at all. Sometimes he’ll just be sitting there and just be dying.

Actually, Pierre’s sweating was the only flaw Zacharie felt he’d ever been permitted to see. For this reason, he loved it.

I mean... sweat isn’t really all that attractive or anything, but it’s natural and definitely nothing to be looked down on in the first place. But specifically with Pierre, who was so reserved and upstanding, Zacharie craved intimacy with him and would take whatever he could get, even if it was just this tiny hint that Pierre wasn’t, in fact, perfect.

Zacharie got to be around him enough to notice this detail, and that alone felt... special to him. As it was, Pierre still didn’t even know about Zacharie’s asthma, so technically, Pierre had opened up to Zacharie more than Zacharie had opened up to Pierre. It was funny, looking at it that way and knowing how hard Pierre worked for things to be the opposite...

Pierre was going to feel really bad when he learns about Zacharie’s asthma. Partly because he’s never noticed, and partly because he could have started dying in front of him, all this time, and he’d have no idea why. He’d probably stab him with his epipen, considering he wasn’t able to speak to tell him what’s wrong, and then probably cry with relief when it worked and he could breathe again - having not been sure if it would do anything at all.

So. Zacharie noticed he was sweating, which _could_ mean nothing, but let’s face it... when you see someone sweating without having done any particular exercise, you tend to assume they’re nervous - which begs the question... why would he be nervous?

“You know,” Zacharie says, quietly, “I’m going to sound like an awful person for this, but I’m... really glad you woke up. I mean, I’m also really glad you slept, because you work so hard, and you need and deserve to rest but... well, I always look forward to... talking to you. So I’m glad we got a chance to hang out tonight. You obviously need to sleep, though, so I’m going to bribe Percy into making sure you do... at all costs. I may have her drug you...”

He hoped the joke played.

“I don’t think you sound like an awful person,” Pierre replies, continuing to look ahead, “I’m glad I woke up, too... It would be a shame to know I couldn’t attend to you at all this evening.”

Saying _attend to you_ was meant as a way to make _see you_ sound less gay and wistful. Of course, saying _attend to you_ makes you sound infinitely _more_ gay and wistful. No straight teenager talks like that. And even if they did, well... when I hear that phrase, I think of... looking after a pet. Feeding it, brushing it, petting it. All things that I’m sure you would love to do with Zacharie...

Boy, Pierre would _love_ to _attend to_ Zacharie. It‘s going to be whiplash when they finally get together - going from wondering if even their friendship is one-sided to having the former refuse to stop holding the latter. Like when you grab your pet and wanna snuggle them but they want to be free and you hold them captive for a while? Like that, except Pierre wouldn’t just let Zacharie go after a minute because he felt bad for imprisoning him. And of course, Zacharie wouldn’t feel imprisoned. He would feel safe... and cozy, wrapped up in Pierre’s arms... that’s exactly where he belonged.

Pierre finally looks over for his last remark, one brow twitching upwards, “As for having my sister drug me... it’s bold of you to assume that she hasn’t already done that.”

Zacharie started subtly patting his pockets, trying to see if he was carrying a handkerchief that he could offer Pierre, although he wasn’t sure he actually _would_ offer it... he wasn’t trying to draw attention to the sweat, after all. He just wanted to encourage Pierre to take care of himself.

“Bold of _you_ to assume that _I_ was assuming that,” Zacharie corrects, “when instead I was, in fact, assuming she _has_ done that. That’s how I know she already _has_ the drugs and the means to pull it off.”

He eventually finds a handkerchief in his jeans pocket, but doesn’t take it out yet. He just tucks his hands away and squeezes it in his fist. If things got worse, he’d loan it to Pierre...

...he might loan it out, anyway. Zacharie realized the thought of Pierre having something of his was really appealing to him.

Pierre resists the urges to both roll his eyes and smile at Zacharie’s correction. He responds instead by shaking his head. Unfortunately, doing that jostles a droplet of sweat, and causes it to start dripping down. He looks disgusted and mildly offended by this, and reaches up to wipe it off.

“Excuse me...”

Zacharie glances up at the wayward drop of sweat, not an ounce of judgment in his gaze, and then looks away, toying with the handkerchief, as they stepped outside and started making their way to the curb in front of the mansion. This is when Zacharie finally gets up the courage to draw out the handkerchief.

It was bright red with a scalloped edge and Zacharie’s initials embroidered in white in the corner.

“Here,” he murmurs, extending the cloth, a tender expression on his face, “You look a little warm.”

It was painfully obvious that Zacharie just wanted Pierre to have the handkerchief. He was worried about making it known that his sweating had been noticed, but, well, this was... too important to Zacharie.

Wow folks, breaking news. Extra, extra, read all about it - chivalry is, contrary to popular belief, not dead. Pierre accepts the handkerchief, feeling everything in his body shift and scream and shake.

He’s never swooned before, not really. He’s witnessed Orion do it many times - something he finds fascinating. It’s difficult for him to process what it would be like to be so excited he fainted. Now, he kind of understands. He’s overwhelmingly giddy right now, taking this object of heavy romantic subtext of Zacharie’s for himself. Zacharie wouldn’t know, though. He’s just sort of standing there, looking at him. The slight pink tinge on his cheeks could be a trick of the light.

It takes him a moment to even be embarrassed about his sweating. Slowly, he reaches up and dabs his forehead with it.

“Thank you.”

Zacharie wasn’t sure if that was a real blush or not, but he hoped it was, and, more than that, he hoped it had babies. He wanted it to multiply. He wanted Pierre’s face to be so warm, so red, that it so closely resembled a cherry tomato that Michael Reeve’s tomato-stabbing machine would murder Pierre on-sight if they were ever in the same room together. He wanted to make Pierre blush - in every way.

His gaze was intense, forgetting his manners as he stared at Pierre’s eyes and cheekbones, forcing his hand to remain in place despite the urge to reach up and tuck a wayward silver hair back behind his ears.

“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs, “You can keep it. As... thanks for covering the cab fare, you know.”

_And as a reminder of me, naturally._

Great news for Zacharie! The blush DOES have babies. The sheer romantics of _"you can keep it"_ \- the pure Regency Era flirtation. It is too much. This is too soft; too gentle. No one can handle it. That flush goes from a subtle dusting of color to a wildfire. Earlier, Zacharie’s statement that Pierre looked warm wasn’t quite accurate - he was sweating, but didn’t seem uncomfortable or exerted. Now, he looks a lot more so.

Zacharie was a big smiler. He loved to smile, and it looked good on him. Whether it was a mischievous smirk or a determined grin or just a bright sunny expression that made you feel safe and welcome, Zacharie had it perfected, down to a science. His smile was wonderful, and it was often difficult to contain - he usually wore it when he was sad so that nobody would know, meaning that it was so trained into him that when he was really happy - or really, _REALLY_ happy, as he was right now - it was impossible to stifle.

A big, fat, stupid adoring smile appeared on his face as he gazed up at Pierre’s flushed cheeks. Fuck, he’s so cute. How could a man who worked so hard to appear like this perfect, elegant, poised individual secretly be this precious and sweet?

Pierre dabs his face a bit more, replying, “I appreciate it, thank you.”

Too tender, Pierre. Too tender....

“It’s murderously hot in Tokyo, I scarcely understand it... did you know that in Chicago, it once reached -32°C? That was in 1985, but it was still about -20 when I visited... It’s remarkable, I knew the states got cold, but not _that_ cold. At times, I wish it did that here...”

Ah yes. Distract from being flustered by fact dumping about your excursions. Good job, bud.

Pierre was an enigma. That’s why Zacharie loved him. He was cute. And pretty. And it was now that Zacharie was realizing that he was also so very nervous. Not that Zacharie had much of an idea why. He thought that perhaps Pierre was just anxious about having Zacharie over at his house, seeing as he wasn’t very fond of Zacharie in the first place.

“I’ve never been to North America,” Zacharie murmurs, honestly, “If I ever go, I’ll make sure to stop in Chicago and tell you how cold it was. That is, if I can still move my hands. I’m used to tropical environments, so temperatures like that would probably murder me.”

When you don’t have a certain quality, you tend to be able to appreciate said quality in other people. Us authors have poker straight hair, so we think curly hair is lovely and wish we had it ourselves - but a lot of people with curly hair absolutely despise it. Ollie wishes they had more freckles, but then, take that one girl from Whisper of the Heart. We want what we don’t have, and what is different is what tends to be remarkable to us.

Pierre is not a smiler. He never has been. His neutral expression is dead and almost disapproving, and he doesn’t understand how to smile in photos for the life of him. If he’s trying, he can’t smile. It’s more often that he’s trying _not_ to, and that is something he has skill in.

Zacharie’s smile, thereforem is not his norm. It’s bright all the time, and when he’s truly happy, it’s like the pages of a book you haven’t read in a long time or a tea you just can’t get enough of. It’s captivating, like a siren’s call to a weary, wounded sailor, and sometimes seeing it makes Pierre want to change his ship’s direction. It’s lovely. And dangerous. No wonder Zacharie is the president of the host club.

Although, different does not always equate to - ...well, remarkable, in the literal sense of the word, yes, I’d say different _DOES_ equate to remarkable, but in Zacharie and Pierre’s case, well... Pierre is drawn to Zacharie’s smile, but Zacharie is disapproving of Pierre’s lack thereof. It’s _remarkable,_ yes, in that Zacharie might _remark_ upon it - but only to say that, from just the few occasions on which he’d seen it, Zacharie knows that he definitely, infinitely prefers Pierre’s smile to his neutral expression. Of course... the fact that it was so rare and fleeting only caused Zacharie to chase it more.

He wanted to make Pierre happy beyond the point of words, where he _had_ to smile to express it. To laugh. Maybe even to sing or dance.

If Pierre told Zacharie that it would make him happy, that it would lead to him smiling just a little more often, Zacharie would vanish from Pierre’s life entirely. The elf’s joy was more important than his presence in Zacharie’s life, and considering Zacharie was pretty sure Pierre Thanatos was deeply frustrated by Zacharie, it wouldn’t surprise him if his absence made everything easier on Pierre all around. It made him sad to think about, but Zacharie would rather be sad and Pierre be happy than the other way around.

If only he knew that disappearing from Pierre’s life would not cause him to smile... it would utterly destroy him. He’d sink down further and further - work less, sleep less, finish less of his assignments. It would be more often he snapped at other people, or was cruel to them just to push them away.

He’d be a mess... lord, he’d be a mess just hearing Zacharie thought that.

Pierre has to catch himself, having nearly begun saying he grew up in a tropical environment too. Thank god there was no verbal admission.

“Hm...” He says, “I do believe my family was all built for the tropics, and I have spent a lot of my time with them there... but I must be an outsider. Cold is far more preferable to heat.”

Maybe someday he will acclimate to it.

Zacharie tears his eyes away from Pierre and stares at the street before dropping to sit on the curb while he waited on the taxi.

“I can’t relate. Even Japan is almost too cold for me,” he confesses, “I guess when we’re both free to live wherever we want, we’ll wind up on the opposite ends of the Earth, you looking for chilly weather and me looking for warmth...”

He trailed off. His voice had grown a little weak, a little tired there at the end. Maybe even... disheartened. Thinking about how frighteningly close graduation was, how Pierre would have his pick of universities the world over, and how he had just confessed to preferring the cold, well... Zacharie just knew they’d wind up far apart.

Probably for the best, but... it was still sad.

“I doubt it,” He replies, nonchalantly. Behind his demeanor, he’s thinking about how horrid it would be to live apart from Zacharie, “unless you move away from Japan. I hope to go to Kyoto University, and though I do want to travel at some points in my life, it’s likely that I will remain here and take over our company.”

There’s just a touch of sadness in his voice there.

Zacharie knew why. The first time he ever heard him laugh, it was because he was broken. Incredulous. Frustrated. Flabbergasted. It was a laugh to release all of those tangled inner emotions he had been holding in so long. The thing is - Zacharie has all of this money (or so he believes. He has enough to go to Ouran Academy, so he presumes he’s extremely well-to-do) but yet he has no true responsibilities. From what he knows, he has no company to take over, no societal pressure weighing on him. All of that money with an abundance of freedom...

...and yet, he’d confessed he wished he had more. Of course, this is because he’s been driven from his home - his kingdom. He wishes he had the place he used to, some purpose instead of staying in hiding for his life.

Pierre isn’t aware of this. He is the one set to take over his family’s company, but he desperately doesn’t want to. He wants to be his own man - to travel, to learn, to help other people in a more hands on way. Sure, technology is important, but it’s not his passion. But... he’s the most qualified. He’s the one pressured to do it. To do what he wants is to let people down.

So... he wishes he were in Zacharie’s place. Hearing he doesn’t even enjoy it was taxing for him.

“It’s good, though. It means we will never be separated.”

It would be a little while before Zacharie confessed how certain he was of Pierre’s distaste for him. That moment was sure to break both of their hearts. In the meantime, he would just keep assuming that Pierre’s ideal future didn’t include him.

For example, when he said _> “we will never be separated,”_ Zacharie’s first thought was not of Pierre and _him,_ but of Pierre and his family. Pierre may come off as a frost giant in most cases, but when it came to his family, it was well-known how fiercely loyal he was. Even if he was cold in public, there was no denying that he cared about Percy, Orion, and their mother. And who could blame him? They were all such lovely people, who loved him right back.

Zacharie is not completely oblivious, though. He’s _mostly_ oblivious, but not completely. Therefore, as soon as the thought occurred to him that Pierre was talking about his family, he realized that in a conversation between the two of them, specifically talking about _their_ futures and how they aligned with one another, where they’d hardly mentioned Pierre’s family in the first place, it made very little sense for that to be the “we” he was referring to.

And that’s when he thought...

_...he doesn’t mean... me, right? Us? Us two? Out here? The only people around? ...me? And... him?_

Unfortunately, Zacharie _was_ still an idiot.

_...no. No, there’s no way that’s what he could mean._

“Of course,” he murmurs, “your family is a unit. A well-oiled clock. You look after one another... stick by each other. You belong together.”

Moron.

...but... maybe we could cut back on the dumbass-shaming speech.

Zacharie’s heart was in enough pain just saying all that aloud, consciously choosing to interpret it that way, to exclude himself. We don’t need to make him feel stupid on top of that... even if he really _is_ stupid.

Pierre’s heart sinks when Zacharie chooses to misinterpret him. His family...

Right. Yeah. He won’t be separated from his family. That would be impossible - they mean everything to him. But that hasn’t mean what he meant...

Well. Actually? No. No, that was _exactly_ what he meant.

Zacharie isn’t related to him by blood, but it’s impossible to not consider him family by now. He deeply respects and loves him, which has therefore built a loyalty stronger than titanium. Such is the same with his siblings and mother. Of course, he doesn’t feel romantically towards the latter, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the same otherwise.

But... _Zacharie_ certainly didn’t mean it that way. He wasn’t including himself.

“Yes, we do... I’d miss them terribly if I were to live too far away.” 

As he finishes this sentence, the Uber he called pulls up. Ah... they’ll have to say goodbye...

Pierre’s response _did_ include Zacharie to anyone who knew what was going on in Pierre’s head, but to Zacharie himself, who knew very little about anything at all, least of all the inner machinations of Pierre Thanatos’ brilliant but enigmatic and sometimes frustrating mind, all that reply did was confirm Zacharie’s fears.

_Pierre would miss his family._

_But he wouldn’t miss me._

Not that Zacharie could blame him.

Regardless... it was nice to hear that. Any time Pierre demonstrated any kind of emotion, Zacharie celebrated. Seeing him express love and affection for his family was... sweet. Wholesome. As a family man himself, Zacharie adored that... even if he now had no family of his own, and possibly never would again.

“Have a safe trip,” Pierre says, staring at the car numbly, “I trust I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

There was no reason to ask that, other than the fact that Pierre is dramatic, and he desperately wants to see Zacharie tomorrow but doesn’t want him to know that and therefore he uses awkward formalities. Zacharie gets his feet under him and rises, dusting himself off and hefting his backpack on his shoulder as the cab pulls up, and looks over at Pierre, studying him, catching his eye and holding his gaze, silent.

_I trust I’ll see you at school tomorrow?_

“I wouldn’t miss a day at Ouran for the world,” Zacharie’s voice was soft, “...ma chére.”

There was a faint hint of desperation in that term of endearment. Desperation to be clear. All Zacharie wanted was to tell Pierre that he loved him. But he held back.

One day, maybe. They’d... done enough for today.

_Wow, oke. Zacharie te fè l 'objektif li pòp kè Pierre a tankou yon balon, huh? Sa a fre._

Didn't understand that bit? That's because, in his head, when Zacharie had called him that name, Pierre forgot how to speak or even think in Japanese for a second. He heard those words - that pet name - and a 404 error took over his brain.

The blush darkens, and the sweat begins to increase.

"Hm... A bientôt, mon ami."

There's something airy about his tone of voice.

Friend. Not _dear._ Friend. That's how it should be for them... right?

Zacharie turns and climbs into the Uber, settling in the backseat and shutting the door, already striking up a friendly conversation with the driver to thank him for getting him safely home. As the car pulled away, Zacharie paused to glance out the window at Pierre again. Only for a second though. Then they were gone, the cab disappearing out through the front gates.

Pierre's countenance grows stony once more as he watches Zacharie drive off into the distance. It is only when he is out of sight that he raises the handkerchief, still clutched in his hand, and presses it to his heart. He stands there, staring, for an embarrassingly long time - five or ten minutes.

"Ou se pathetic," he tells himself, then moves back inside to get to work. There is much to accomplish that he missed out on during his nap. 

The call he receives from an informant of his, giving whispers of a certain Thai boy's adventures of the day, only causes this workload to grow.

At least the handkerchief is next to him on his desk, keeping him company. It makes him feel a lot less alone... even if his isolation is entirely his own fault.


End file.
